


All Rivers Lead to the Sea

by Shewolf_of_highgarden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Arya doesnt go to kings landing, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Female Friendship, Mother-Daughter Relationship, She still ends up in the Riverlands, Uncle-Niece Relationship, War of the Five Kings, children with too much responsibility, medieval politics, this fixes practically nothing, traumatizing children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-08-27 00:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 88,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16692202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shewolf_of_highgarden/pseuds/Shewolf_of_highgarden
Summary: “No, Ned. Arya is not ready to be in King’s Landing.”“It is time for Arya to learn of the Southern court. She will not be a child forever.”“I agree, but King’s Landing is not the place for her.”“Do you have an alternative in mind?”“If you are so set on having her in the South, I will write my Father. Arya can assist Father in Riverrun, the responsibility will be good for her.”orArya goes to Riverrun instead of Kings Landing and surprisingly little changes for everyone else





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, welcome to what i was doing instead of what i was supposed to be doing. I know the tags are pretty barren, but more will be added i just wanted to keep some suspense. I hope you all join me on this weird little adventure and enjoy. Comments and kudos are appreciated. 
> 
> And most importantly, thank you for reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ned and Cat change plans, Arya deals with the fall out of their decision, and Edmure gets to meet his niece

i.

“No, Ned. Arya is not ready to be in King’s Landing.”

“It is time for Arya to learn of the Southern court. She will not be a child forever.”

“I agree, but King’s Landing is not the place for her.”

“Do you have an alternative in mind?”

“If you are so set on having her in the South, I will write my Father. Arya can assist Father in Riverrun, the responsibility will be good for her.”

ii.

Arya glares at the plate in front of her. Her fast was yet again broken with black bread and bacon and honeyed mead. On the whole the food is not terrible, but it turned to dirt in her mouth. This day was to be the one where Father abandoned her in the Riverlands. Her mother did not want her in Winterfell and Father did not want her in King’s Landing so she was to be exiled to her Grandfathers keep; a wolf among fish.

“Wyl, Alyn, and Harwin will go on with you to Riverrun. Your uncle Edmure will meet you at an inn midway.” Father told her.

She wants to snap that she knew all of that. Her Lord Father had told her of the plan at least once a day. Wyl, Alyn, and Harwin would escort her and Uncle Edmure would meet them half-way. The Stark guardsmen would stay for a time at Riverrun ( _two weeks or a moon, until you feel comfortable, sweetling_ ) before riding on to King’s Landing. Father has promised to write her and Mother has promised to visit but then Bran fell, so Arya is unsure of when Mother will come see to her. Arya figured that it would be never. Mother wanted her to go to Riverrun to learn to be a lady like Sansa when they inevitably told her it was impossible she would never come.

Sansa had promised to write as well, but she looked too happy for Arya’s taste. Her sister was probably all too happy to be away from her. Sansa would stay with Father and swoon after the prince and see all the tourneys she wanted. Sansa would not miss her in the least. She would have Jeyne and the Princess Myrcella and the Queen and Septa Mordane and Lady and all the other ladies at court who would be charmed by her elder sister. All Arya has is Nymeria… and needle. Harwin and Alyn and Wyl would leave her eventually to go to the royal court. She bets that they would leave as fast as they could when given the chance. Alyn wanted to be a knight and there was no better place to become a knight than King’s Landing.

“While you at Riverrun you are to help your Grandfather,’ Father keeps going, ‘Until Edmure marries you will be the only Lady there and that means you will have responsibilities.”

Down the table Jeyne Poole is laughing and Arya just knows it is at what Father is saying. Arya Horse-face acting as Lady of Riverrun? The keep will be demolished in a week. The rivers will run dry and the fish will vanish and the grass will wilt. Game will abandon the woods and the stones will roll away. All the small folk will abandon the villages and the knights will desert to better Houses. The cadet houses will rebel while the minor Lords will rise to overthrow House Tully. The Riverlands are doomed.

iii.

As sour as her mood is (which is completely appropriate as her family has abandoned her), Arya has to admit that riding apart from the Royal Caravan has made her enjoy the trip. With the royal host they had to stop near every hour for one reason or another and slowed more when people joined. With so many people Arya had felt suffocated. Now with just the five of them Nymeria can run to her hearts content without scaring the knights and she rides her mare instead of having to sit in the stuffy wheel house with Septa Mordane, Sansa, and Jeyne Poole. Instead of having to beg a horse from Harwin, now he lets her race him through the trees, Alyn close behind and Nymeria far ahead.

She would never dare say it aloud, but the nights are a bit lonely. For two she had slept with Sansa and though it had lead to squabbling (it was not her fault that Sansa could not share blankets) she missed it a bit. For the most part she is able to push that away. Instead she focuses on listening to the stories that Wyl tells them as the fire roars. He only knows stories of warriors and knights, but that suits Arya fine as she has never been fond of Jonquil, though it would be nice to hear of Wenda or Visenya. Old Nan would know their stories, but Arya does not think of Old Nan. She does not think of the old woman nor does she feels tears well when she thinks of her.

Tears certainly do not come to her eyes when she thinks of Father. Father who had hugged her tight and told her to be good. Father who had taken her by the shoulders and knelt as to look into her eyes and reminded her of duty and honor. Who had told her to show the Riverlands how a daughter of the North behaves. Then after she had nodded as she was still not speaking to him, he hugged her tight.

“I love you, my little wolf.”

Tears did not come when she had been forced to hug Sansa while Septa Mordane looked on with an odd look on her face (Arya was sure she was trying to hide her relief at Arya’s departure).  Sansa had hugged her back and smiled at her when they pulled apart.

“Greet Grandfather and Uncle Edmure for me, Arya,’ she had said before getting the i-am-your-elder look on her face, ‘and be sure to behave. You are representing all of us while in the Riverlands.”

“I will be perfectly fine.” Arya had snapped before turning on her heel and storming to where the horses were being prepared. She tried not to look at her sister and Father when they rode away.

iv.

Edmure Tully, unsurprisingly, does not look like her. He is tall, maybe a bit taller than Father, and he has the blue eyes of her mother. His hair was somewhere between Mother’s and Sansa’s though the hair on his growing beard was an almost shocking red. When they meet, she can tell that he is apprising her like she is to him, she wonders if he sees any of his sister on her. Arya never saw any shared traits and no one every pointed them out and if Edmure Tully saw anything on her that looked like Mother he does not mention it.

Instead he smiles at her and says “Well met, niece.”

Trying to think of what Sansa would do, Arya gives a wobbly curtsey, “Well met, Uncle.”

“I hope you are not mad at us for taking you away from the excitement of King’s Landing. Father is eager to meet one of his grandchildren.”

“Is he?” Arya blurts out.

She had thought of her Tully grandfather on and off throughout the trip. She was curious about the man who had raised her mother, but at the same time this was the man who raised Mother. Mother who did not approve of almost anything that Arya did, Mother who had sent her down here to be rid of her. If Mother and Father had wanted her gone how long before this grandfather would see her sent away or hidden from view if he could not send her away?

“Oh yes,’ her uncle replies after taking a bite of his pigeon pie, ‘He has only met your brother Robb and wishes to know his family. He has only me for company and I believe he wishes for a new face.”

Arya nods, wondering if Hoster Tully will be happy that the face he will receive is in a new one. She has no Tully coloring for him. As she tries to find the right answer, she reaches for her own piece of pie, happy to have fuller food now that they had reached an inn.

“As it stands we do not have much in the way of young girls at Riverrun, but fear not Father plans to offer to act as ward for a daughter or two from a close House. He is very busy, you see, and I have my own duties, so you will need someone to occupy your time.”

Arya does not say that she did not really get on with highborn girls, images of Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel surrounding Sansa swirling in her head, and instead says, “It is not an issue, Uncle, I have Nymeria to keep me company.”

Said wolf was currently hunting for her own meal in the woods. She had wanted to bring Nymeria inside with her, but when the wolf crossed the threshold the inn-keeper’s wife had screamed. Arya had tried to explain that Nymeria would not hurt anyone, but no one would listen. Edmure had looked decidedly uncomfortable as Arya argued with Harwin, but did not get involved. Instead he found a table and waved Arya over after she had sent Nymeria to go do as she pleased outside.

“Yes, I am sure your wol-”

“Nymeria.”

“Nymeria is a… good companion, but you need some human companionship. You need a friend, not just a pet. Other girls to do things with.”

“What things?” she says unable to hide the venom from her voice, taking his friend comment as an insult to Nymeria.

“… You know, girl things.”

“What if I don’t know?”

“Are you always this contrary?”

The Stark guardsmen’s booming laughs answered for her.

v.

Grandfather does not look as she thought he would. The man standing to meet them in front of his keep does not match the image in her mind. She had pictured a man who looked like Edmure, but with some gray hair. Grandfather is shorter than Edmure and a bit heavier, but it is clear he is still a proud man. She was half right about the hair though. As opposed to the muddy red hair she had expected, Grandfather’s hair is white but his eyes are still Tully blue. More than that his eyes are Mother’s eyes in shade and shape. Arya wonders if that is a warning of how he will see her.

“I’ve returned, Father.” Edmure says as Harwin narrowly misses helping Arya off of her horse.

“Welcome home, Edmure,’ Grandfather says, ‘And welcome to Riverrun, granddaughter.”

“Thank you, grandfather. Mother sends her love… and so does Sansa.” She says uncomfortably, her eyes drifting from the man to the castle.

It looks very little like Winterfell. It was smaller and more angular, the stone of it a light red-brown as opposed to Winterfell’s dark stone. As they had ridden into the courtyard Marq Piper had told her that on the other side of the keep the only way to get in was by boat. Arya was curious to see the other half of the castle that was half submerged in the water. The closest thing she had seen to that was the castle in White Harbor though that was only near the sea and not in it.

“Well, come here, girl. Let me see you.” Grandfather said, motioning her closer.

When she moved closer to him he lifted her chin and studied her face. He turned it this way and that before nodding and letting her go.

“You look like your late Uncle Brandon.”

“I do?”

“Aye, girl, you do. I hope you lack his temper.”

“She seems to have inherited it.” Edmure says, sounding half teasing from behind her.

Arya shot a glare his way making him laugh. Grandfather appear to be studying her when she returned to gaze to him making her fidget.

Finally the old man smiled, “You are young, and it is only natural for you children of summer to have inherited some heat. Here in the cool waters you will learn how to temper that heat, I am sure. Come, Arya, I wish to hear of your journey.”

 

 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmure and Harwin have a difference of opinion, Arya starts helping to run Riverrun, Utherydes Wayn has no sympathy, and the Tully Household expands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone! Thank you so much for all of the support from the first chapter! I've rewritten this three times so fingers crossed on this one. This is another establishing chapter, the plot of ASOIAF will start to come into play soon (probably the end of chapter 3 or 4). Next chapter we see more of Edmure and Arya, and Arya's wolf-blood comes into play. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! As usual comments and kudos are appreciated.

i.

_Cat,_

_Arya has arrived hale and whole at Riverrun and there have been no problems what so ever, no matter what the Stark men write you. Those guardsmen your husband sent are as excitable as young maids seeing a rat in the nighttime. All I wanted to do was show Arya how fierce a current the wheel could make and make sure that should she fall in she could get out. One would think that I meant to drown the girl. I knew there would be no issues as I was there and Maester Vyman had insisted on coming to supervise, plus the men who keep watch over the Watergate were all at their stations. Even that was an unnecessary amount of men, Arya may look like a Stark but she swims like a Tully. Now we can all rest assured that she will not drown should she fall. I have made sure that your daughter will not die a watery death and everyone here, with the exception of Arya, is rather ungrateful. Fear not, big sister, despite the groans of the less responsible I am keeping  watch over your child._

_Your beloved brother,  
Edmure _

ii.

_Lord Stark,_

_We have arrived to Riverrun with no issues. Lady Arya has settled in with few issues, she complains of the heat but I have assured her that she will get used to it. She is still a bit gloomy, but her mood has improved as she has started to explore Riverrun. Rest assured ,my Lord, that she does not simply wonder unattended through the keep. Lord Tully has her taking lessons with Maester Vyman and helping Steward Utherdyes Wayn run the castle. Lord Tully has also told me that a septa should be here in three days’ time  to make sure that Lady Arya has an education befitting a lady. The only true  issue is that Lord Edmure has an inadequate view of safety or propriety. Two days past we saw him encourage the little lady into the water near the Wheel Tower under the excuse of teaching her what to do should she fall in. The incident did not end in injury, but was worth noting. As long as she can survive Edmure’s mad schemes, Lady Arya will be fine._

_~ Harwin_

iii.

When Mother had told her that until Uncle Edmure married Arya would be acting as Lady of Riverrun, she had thought it would be mostly embroidery and mayhap some sums every now with little difference from life at Winterfell. At Winterfell she had learned bits of what it took to run a keep, but the information was not put to use and some times it left her head as quickly as it entered it. At Riverrun embroidery was the least of her worries.

Her days were full and split between lessons with Maester Vyman and lessons with the dour Steward Utherydes Wayn. Maester Vyman had started with heraldry the Riverlands. Arya  already knows the important ones; Tully, Whent, and Blackwood. When it comes to the other ones she is lost.

“A silver eagle on an indigo field.” Maester Vyman says, sitting across the desk in the solar Arya had been given.

“… House… Mallister?” she guesses, trying to remember if any other houses in the Riverlands had birds on their crests. House Blackwood had ravens and she thought that one house had a crane, but she could not remember which.

“The words?”

“As high as-no-Above the rest.”

“Six brown acorns on a golden field.”

“House Smallwood?”

“Good. What are their words?”

“Growing strong?”

“No, those are Tyrell words. I will give you a hint; what do acorns promise?” Maester Vyman tries. Arya will admit the man might be one of the most stubborn people she has ever met during lessons, but she appreciates that he sees she is trying and will help her, at least on the first go round. If she cannot remember when he asks her on a different day she has to read the house’s page in “An Account of the Houses of the Riverlands” out loud again and again for half an hour. At those moments she is less than fond of Maester Vyman.

“… Trees.”

“Yes and new beginnings. The words of House Smallwood are ‘from these beginnings.”

“Oh.”

“A flock of ravens surrounding a dead weirwood tree.” Maester Vyman says.

“That’s an easy one, its House Blackwood.”

“Their words?”

“Our strength gathers.”

“How is it, my lady, that you can remember Blackwood but not Smallwood?”

Arya worries her lip as she thinks about that question, wondering if she had offended the man. She had not meant to, it was just that it never seemed important before. Before Father had called her to his solar and spoke of sending her to Riverrun, Arya has never considered leaving the North, not truly. She had thought to go to Braavos to see if Old Nan’s stories were true and she longed to see what was to the West (Theon said there was nothing but sea monsters) at some point, but not quite so soon. It was not that Southern houses were unimportant, just irrelevant. 

“House Blackwood was of the North, Smallwood is of the South.” She says for lack of better explanation.

“Is the South not as important as the North?”

“No… I just do not know it as well.”

“You will learn. One day you will know the South as well as you know the North. It is only right as you are a child of both.”

iv.

After the nooning meal Arya helps Wayn run the castle. The night she had arrived Grandfather had explained that the duties that Wayn and Edmure had taken over the duties that were usually done by the lady of the keep and now that she was here those duties would fall to her. She guessed that he had noticed her pale, or more likely Edmure’s chocking fit had been a hint, because his voice had softened from stern to firm.

“Have no fear girl, we will ease you into it. Besides it is better to do it now with us than with a husband who will most likely be less understanding.” He said, and Edmure let out a muffled groan.

After starting to preform duties with the ever dour Steward Wayn she wondered if Grandfather knew what “eased in” meant. The first day he had taken her around the entire keep, he showed her almost everything from stable to sept. He skipped over the dungeons, however, as it was believed that she would never have a need to go down there. The dungeons were under the control of the captain of the guards and he would report to the Lord of the keep, instead of her. Even though he would never answer to her, Wayn still made sure to make introduce Arya to Ser Robin Ryger when he introduced her to the head servants.

On her third day at Riverrun the real work began. Instead of leading her to the kitchens or the grounds, as she had expected, the steward leads her to her Solar after the nooning meal, bringing four large leather bound books. “As I am sure your grandfather has informed you, he has accepted two young ladies as a wards. As Lady of the keep it is your job to see them cared for properly.”

Arya stares at him, trying to decide if he was mad or not, “I do not know how to do that.”

“I am sure you will figure it out, my lady. Now where shall their rooms be?”

Arya wants to scream at him, wants to tell him that this was stupid. She has only been here three days and she has no idea how to care for other girls. She cannot even tell you where one would start. But her parent’s face flash through her mind. She does not want Wayn to go to Grandfather to tell him how hopeless she is. Grandfather will write Mother and Mother will write Father and Father…Father will be so disappointed in her. Disappointed that she cannot do her duties and that she embarrassed House Stark. He would probably make her become a Silent Sister as he could not send her to the Wall. Arya presses her teeth into her tongue at the thought of the Silent Sisters, as if making sure that the mere thought of women had not taken her own tongue. If she wanted to keep her power of speech, or the name Stark, she would have to at least try.

“I need to ask for two chambers to be aired out and cleaned?” she tries, a bit unsure. She is trying to remember what Mother did when highborn visitors came to stay. She was starting to wish she had paid a little more attention.

“Which rooms? Do you plan to go to any servant and simply say ‘I want two rooms cleaned?” the Steward asked dryly. Arya had never got on with Jeyne Poole, but right now she would give anything for Vayon Poole. The man was the serious sort, but he never seemed to be this aggravating.

“No…I’ll ask to have two of the rooms nearest to mine emptied and cleared to make room for them.”

“Who are you going to give this order to?”

“I thought I gave it to you.” Arya confesses. She remembers her mother having conversation with Winterfell’s steward regularly, the conversations increasing when there were guests. Before the royal party had arrived the two had spent almost every moment together. If Mother or Vayon were not together they were with Father and if they were not with Father they were together.

Utherydes sniffs imperiously at that, and Arya comes terribly close to rolling her eyes.

“What do you expect to do if I am busy? I have other duties to attend to that would take precedent.”

“Then I would go to Bessa, since she is the head of the maids.”

The old man nodded at that and sat there in silence. Arya shifted uncomfortably in her seat waiting for what he would ask her next. Or was that it? Were they done? Was he just taking a break before getting to his other duties.

“Well, my lady?’ he said, finally breaking the silence, ‘Are you going to tell her?”

“Now?”

“Soonest begun and all. The girls will be here in two weeks, and we still need to go over rooms for the retinue that travels with them. Did you think they traveled alone? After that we need to make sure we have enough food to feed these people.” He says tapping the top leather-bound book with a finger.

Arya got up silently, trying to hide her temper and embarrassment and rushed from the rooms. She’s halfway down the hall when Utherdyes stopped her. “Where are you going my lady?”

“You said to go tell Bessa.”

“You needn’t  go find her. You tell one of the other servants to get her for you. You have more important things to do than chase after a maid.’ He said before calling out, ‘Pate!”

A blond boy about Sansa’s age materialized next to the steward.

“Yes, Steward?” the boy said, looking everywhere but the old man. Arya did not fault him for it.

“Lady Arya needs your assistance.” Utherdyes said, making the youth turn to look at her.

“How can I serve you, m’lady?”

Arya felt awkward. She has never ordered anyone to do anything. She would ask the servants for something at Winterfell, but all were allowed to say no to her, especially if her parents had ordered it. She pictures Mother in her mind and tries to figure out how she would ask this.

She stood a bit taller and put her shoulders back, she’ll never admit it but she pretend to be Mother, “Pate, I need you to find Bessa for me. When you find her, would you send her to my solar."

“Right away, m’lady.” Pate said before giving a bow and rushing away.

Without a word Arya went back and takes her seat at the table. She desperately wishes she could go do anything different. She would love to go riding, she’d not had the chance since she had arrived in Riverrun. Or she could go explore with Nymeria or practice with Needle or at this point she would even write Sansa a letter if only to get out of this.

Instead of doing any of that sat behind the table and waited for the old man to start up again. She wondered if would not simply be easier to become an outlaw like Wenda.

v.

As a general rule Arya is weary of Septas. To be fair to the order the only one she has ever truly known was Septa Mordane and there was very little fondness there. She had seen a bit of Princess Myrcella’s Septa, but had not spent enough time around the girl to gauge whether or not she was different from Septa Mordane, but Arya had assumed they were cut from the same cloth. A bolt of fabric which did not like her very much.

So when Edmure introduced her to Septa Donyse, she had been cautious.

“Arya, this is Septa Donyes. Father has lured her from King’s Landing to come and watch over you and aid you in things in which we are not well-versed.”

She wanted badly to tell Edmure that she did not need a Septa. That she could figure things out on her own thank you very much… or if worst came to worst she could consult with Maester Vyman. She had started lessons with him the day after she had arrived right after breaking her fast. He was a fine tutor, but she would admit that she missed Maester Luwin. She had known Luwin for as long as she could remember and the man had always been kind to her. He had also allowed her a bit more freedom when it came to knowing heraldry. She could recite and recognize all of the Northern houses, but once she got below the neck it all got muddy. Maester Vyman was not half so forgiving and they went over it for what felt like eternity.

After lessons she would either work with Maester Vyman or Utherdyes Wayn (a man who Arya swore had not smiled since the Doom) on learning to run a castle properly had been warned more than once that before the moon had ended some responsibilities would be given to her to handle. Her knowledge of sums were useful when it came to inventory and food stores, but when it came to tasks such as letter writing she found her skills to be lacking. The Septa had been brought in order to teacher her what Edmure had called the womanly arts. He had left the “and to keep an eye on you” unsaid.

Septa Donyse looked a bit younger than Septa Mordane and had seemed a cheerier sort, though still had an air of severity.

“My lady,” the Septa had said with a slight curtsey, Arya ignored the fact that the Septa did it much better than she did.

“Septa Donyse”

vi.

Bethany Blackwood arrives about a week after Septa Donyse along with her father and three of her elder brothers. She’s a shy pretty thing and reminds Arya a bit of Beth Cassel. That thought is not one that makes her particularly happy. Unlike with Beth Cassel, more than one person has told Arya that it is not her fault that Bethany is upset. It is not as though the girl dislikes her one sight, though Arya really would not be surprised, the problem is that she has never been away from home and her Father’s reluctance to this arrangement has not made it any easier.

“My sister is the only girl out of seven children, so Father dotes on her. This is the furthest she has ever been from home and it frightens her. I am told you can understand, Lady Arya. You are from the North are you not?” Brynden Blackwood says to her as she leads him to his room. He is the last in the retinue to be shown his room and apparently saw this as a private moment to speak of his sister without embarrassing her.

“Call me Arya,’ she said, ‘And you don’t need to explain your sister to me.”

She is a bit insulted that he would think he so cruel as to be mean to a girl who was sad because she was leaving her family. Arya is not mad that Bethany is upset, but she did feel a bit guilty. Bethany would not be here if she was not…maybe she could talk to Grandfather and tell him that she and the Blackwood girl did not get on. She had the feeling, however, that he would look at her and tell her to figure it out. A lady was supposed to be able to work with anyone, even those who were not fond of her.

That night when Arya goes to bed after making sure the guests are taken care of and Grandfather has no need of her, she finds Bethany in her room. She supposed that she should not be surprised, though she was slightly. At Winterfell she had shared with Sansa when they were small, but that was long ago. They were both almost women grown now, what with Sansa at ten-and-one and Arya at nine. Beth is eight, though, so maybe she still shares a bed or it is a southern custom.

“Mother and your Septa said I should sleep in here tonight.” Bethany says looking at her feet and wrapping her shawl tighter around herself.

“Why?” Arya asks unable to stop herself.

Bethany head shoots up and her face was as red as the leaves on her shawl, “Mother said companions sometimes sleep together…s-she said to, but I’ll go”

Before the girl can rush out the door Arya calls out to her, “It’s fine. I was just asking, we don’t really do that up North.”

The girl turns to look at her, “Really?”

“Yes. I always just slept alone or with my sister when I was younger. Could you help me with these ties? I can’t reach and I don’t feel like finding someone else.” Arya says gesturing to the laces on her back.

“Is it true you have a dire wolf?” Bethany asks hesitantly as she starts to untie the strings holding her dress together.

“Yes, her name is Nymeria. She is usually around more, but Grandfather said she had to stay in the stable so she did not frighten your party off.”

“You are not frightened of her?” Bethany asks hesitantly.

Arya gives an incredulous laugh, “Of course not. Nymeria is my best friend, I could never be frightened of her.”

“My brother Hoster said that he read that direwolves eat people.”

“Well then your brother is stupid.” Arya says, pulling on her nighttime shift.

“He is not! Hoster is one of the smartest people in the world!”

“So smart he thinks that direwolves are going to him when he’s never seen one.”

“No one has ever seen them down here in years and years.”

“Do you want to see her, then?” Arya asks, pulling the pins from her hair.

Bethany looks at her with wide eyes, paling slightly at the thought of going to see one of the large wolves that Hoster had warned her about. After a moment she clenched her fists and stood up straighter, narrowing her eyes. Hesitantly she nodded.

“Are you sure? I would not want to scare you.”

Bethany glares at that, “I’m a Blackwood, we fear nothing.”

Arya’s lips twitch, “Prove it.”

Later when the castle is asleep and it’s the hour of the wolf Arya leads Bethany Blackwood to the stables as quietly as possible. When the Blackwood girl coos at Nymeria and pets her, though she is clearly afraid, Arya thinks that she might like this girl.

 


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elaenor Mooton completes the new additions to the Tully household, Arya and Hoster bond over a scary story, Arya and Edmure talk about Cat, and we finally hear from Ned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you so much for all of kudos and comments. On a housekeeping note i plan to start updating every Tuesday, i am a first year grad student so i may not always be able to stick to that. The goal is every tuesday. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

i.

Arya likes Bethany Blackwood and Septa Donyse has started to grow on her, but none of that changes her hatred of embroidery. She hates sitting for so long bent over a piece of fabric, so much so that sometimes she wishes that Utherdyes Wayn would sweep into the room and announce that he had need of her. The man never has need of her when she wants him to. Oh he will come find her as she is about to mount a horse or sneak needle into the Godswood or go to the gardens with Bethany, but when she was embroidering or practicing her penmanship? Never. She wonders sometimes if the man’s goal in life is to make her miserable. He and Septa Mordane were practically made for each other.

Since Utherdyes Wayn and Maester Vyman do not seem to be materializing before her anytime soon, Arya must find a way to amuse herself. As it stands her favorite game is to see if she can make Septa Donyse blush with added points if she can get Bethany to laugh out loud. As they embroider (at the moment Arya has been set to the task of embroidering what would be a pillow) Arya regales the two women with the stories and jokes she has overheard from the stable boys, servants, knights, Uncle Edmure and his friends, anyone who sometimes did not notice her. She does not always understand the jokes or tales, but they get big enough laughs from the men that she tells them anyway. Arya knows that Bethany does not really get the jokes either, but laughs at Arya’s telling of it. They never admit any of this out loud, because of course they understand why the joke is funny, they are nearly women grown.

She has to be careful with that activity, however, because while Septa Donyse never told on her choosing instead to tut or sigh, Grandfather once heard her repeat a joke about a maiden and a bear  that she had heard from Elwood, and Bethany bursting into laughter. Bethany had been sent to the Sept to be lectured by Septa Donyse, while Arya had been called to her Grandfather’s solar. He had gone on forever about propriety and responsibility and duty. He had then made her read the Hymn of the Crone out loud for an hour in order to “gain the wisdom to know better”.

Arya had stopped…or about three days or so before starting again. She is careful to watch the door, but so far the incident has not repeated. She is always surprised that Septa Donyse does not tattle on her, but Arya thinks they have reached an unspoken agreement; Arya will do her best at needlework and in turn to Septa will let her have her game. Besides Arya thinks that Septa Donyse finds it amusing, every once in a while when Bethany is laughing the Septa covers her mouth in what appears to be horror, but her eyes shine and shoulders shake in such a way that it is obvious she is trying not to laugh. That is not to say that Arya gets to play this every day, sometimes the Septa shuts it down before it begins and goes on to read to them from the Seven Pointed Star while the girls work or give a lecture on virtues. Sometimes she even tells stories, usually romances. Arya thinks its rather amusing that the Septa is almost as much of a romantic as Sansa.

ii.

Arya did not swim often at Winterfell. It was rarely warm enough to do so and there were few places to actually do it. When she was small, mayhap four or five, Mother had taken her to the hot springs and stripped both herself and Arya down to their shifts. Mother had slipped into the water while Arya waited on the side, shifting anxiously, caught somewhere between wanting to join her mother and wanting to stay on land. Mother had beckoned her close and took her in her arms before showing her to float and kick and move her arms. Mother had done those lessons three times, “just in case” she would explain, before ending them. Arya had learned how to swim if there was ever a need and that was that.

When Bran was old enough he and Arya used to sneak down to the hot springs, though it was too small to swim in when Arya was eight so they would make do with splashing each other. In the Riverlands she swam a lot more often. At least once a week Arya would head to the Red Fork and strip to her shift before jumping in. She loved the memories of splashing with her little brother, but she admits to herself that is more fun to go swimming with Bethany and Elaenor Motton, who had joined them two weeks after Bethany had arrived. Clever Elaenor was the strongest swimmer of the three of them, having lived on the banks of Maiden pool all of her life.

Though Bethany had grown up in the Riverlands, Raventree Hall was not close to rivers. There had been lakes near enough that she would swim in, but nothing with a current. Arya had not blamed Bethany for being cautious when it came to the Red Fork. Of course just because Bethany was cautious did not mean that Arya was. She had jumped in after Elaenor and found that the current was a bit stronger than she had thought, but she swam over to where Elaenor was treading water. After seeing that neither girl was being swept away by the current Bethany joined them.

Neither Bethany nor Arya are weary of the Red Fork  anymore. Elaenor teaches them how to open their eyes under water and shows them how to hold their breathes as long as possible. Elaenor and Arya have been competing on who can hold theirs the longest, while Bethany has been regulated, fairly willingly, to being the judge. Now Arya and Elaenor are pulling faces as best they can at each other underwater, determined to make the other laugh themselves into losing. Elaenor has won ten times now and Arya is determined that this is her day to win. She has been secretly practicing. When she bathes she sends her maids away and sinks below the surface of the tub, staying under for as long as she can. She tries as hard as she can to ignore the burning in her lungs and focuses on trying to cross her eyes at Elaenor.

It ends in a tie, much to Arya’s annoyance. Bethany hoots for her almost-victory, and Arya manages half a smile at the dark haired girl. She turns to Elaenor, “I’m going to win, one of these days.”

“Mayhap,’ the older girl agrees with a grin, ‘And mayhap the Children will come back.”

Arya splashes her in the face before taking in a mouthful of water herself. By the time they are finishes she is sure that there is no longer any water in the Red Fork. She expects to look over and see the trees and grass and Bethany drenched from the war being fought. When she can finally see again, she sees that Bethany is definitely wetter than when she had first sat on the grassy bank and that somehow there was still water in the river.

Arya looks over at Elaenor who is grinning back at her, her honey hair plastered to her face and she looks back to Bethany where the girl site weaving a daisy chain, with her feet in the water. Friends, actual friends. Arya feels oddly warm.

She splashes Elaenor again.

iii.  

She goes to the library in the evening for lack of anything better to do. Rain has come and instead of practicing with Needle in the godswood as she likes to do in the evening, she is stuck inside. As brave as she is Arya does not dare use Needle inside, sure that word would somehow get to grandfather and he would snap Needle in two. Bethany is busy writing her father, mother, and little brother in Arya’s solar and Elaenor is practicing a new song on her harp. Again. If Arya has to hear _Six Maids in a Pool_ one more time she will break the stupid harp.

Instead writing letters (most of hers get written when she practices penmanship) or listening to the first half of a song thirty more times, Arya goes to satisfy her curiosity. As Maester Vyman had gone over the history of the Riverlands he had mentioned House Lothston. He had gone over the other houses, even the extinct ones, so extensively that it caught her attention that he was vague about House Lothston. When she had asked he had said “Nothing for you to worry yourself with, little lady, all you need to know is that once they were gone house Whent was gifted Harrenhal. Anything left of house Lothston is all myth” and then sent her off to Utherdyes Wayn. She had originally thought to ask Bethany and Elaenor that night as she squished between them in bed, but she needed something to kill her time before it was time to retire.

She is surprised to see Grandfather when she wondered in. Grandfather had taken his dinner in his Solar leaving Edmure, Arya, and the girls to eat together. Arya thought he had still been in his solar, not sitting in front of the roaring fire of the library. She tries to move quietly, Grandfather appears to be asleep and she does not really want to disturb that. Grandfather is not a…cruel man, but he is a stern one. He reminds her a lot of her own father, but older and sometimes his eyes twinkle in such a way that Arya wonders how somber Grandfather truly is by nature.

“I’m not going to bite you, girl.” Grandfather says sounding tired, but the sudden noise is enough to startle Arya.

“Why are you sleeping in the library?” she asks, unable to quell the Stark in her that has to ask questions.

“I was reading and wanted to rest my eyes. What are you doing sneaking around the library at this time of night?”

“I’m not sneaking!’ Arya says indignantly, ‘The sun has just gone down, its too early for bed.”

Grandfather looks towards the windows of the tower before answering, “So it is. What brings you to the library this evening, then?”

Arya shifts slightly, trying to figure out if he would be mad that she wanted to know about House Lutherston. But Grandfather might know, might be more forthcoming than the maester…it would be a gamble. “I want to learn about house Lothston.”

“Ah. Where did you hear about that ghost story?” Grandfather says as he sits up straighter in his chair.

“I’ve moved on from heraldry, Maester Vyman has me memorizing the histories of the houses. We are house Whent and Maester Vyman said that before they held Harrenhal, Lothston did. When I asked why the change Maester Vyman told me that it was not my concern since it was all just a story…do you know why, Grandfather?”

“I have an idea, but it is an awfully dark tale. I would not want that Septa of yours coming after me for giving you nightmares.” Grandfather chuckled.

“Only babies have nightmares. I’m almost a woman grown.”

Grandfather laughs at that, “So you are. Half-grown girl like you would never be scared of an old man’s stories would you? Go on then, take a seat and I’ll tell you the tale much better than any tome.”

And so he tells her the tale. Tells her of the great large castle of Harrenhal and its tall towers. So tall in fact that the wind spirits too exception to it and in order to punish the mortals who dared such hubris they cursed the castle. Family after family had tried to hold on to the castle and family after family fled or went mad. No family had felt the curse than the house of Lothston. The family had fed too heavily into the curse and became a part of the castle, it was said that even after they died some could still be seen roaming the halls.

“Why were they roaming the halls of Harrenhal?” Arya asks, wide eyed from the cushioned stool she had taken up residence on.

“What?”

“Why stay in Harrenhal? If I died, I think my ghost would go to Braavos or to the West of Westeros. Why stay in the same castle?”

“I’m sure I would not know. I’ve never spoken to a ghost.” Grandfather says, clearly put out.

“Did Grandmother Tully when she lived there?”

“Did your grandmother see ghosts in Harrenhal?’ Grandfather asks before letting out a laugh, ‘I doubt it. Any ghost who saw her would have fled.”

“Really?” Arya asks, disbelieving that Mother’s Mother could be so hideous or fearsome that ghosts would flee from her. Grandmother could not have been ugly. She remembered Mother telling Sansa how she had resembled the late Minisa Whent, though not so much in the coloring. So Grandmother must have been fearsome…or a witch! Why else would ghosts flee?

“Oh, yes. If a ghost dared to cross her path I’m sure she would have chastised it. How dare it roam these halls doing nothing? If it wanted to stay then it would have to contribute and if it was unwilling to then your Grandmother would have gladly called upon a septon. She was not one to be trifled with. Now may I continue my story?”

He tells her the rest, though not in detail. Tells her of Lady Danelle the Mad, of how bats flew from Harrenhal and brought back naughty children for Danelle to dine upon when the moon was hidden. He tells her of how some nights you could still see the bats flying, looking for food for their mistress for she had tricked the recipe for eternal youth out of a mage visiting from Ashai. All she had to was drink blood from seven sons and seven daughters in the year and she would keep her youth.

By the end Arya’s eyes are wide. Grandfather is looking pleased with himself and Arya is busy reminding herself that Lady Danelle was only a story just like Old Nan had told. _I’ll have to write to Bran with this one,_ she thinks, _he always loved the scary stories._ And if the next time Arya saw Sansa her sister annoyed her overmuch she would mention how Sansa with her copper hair and blue eyes and pale skin matched the description of Danelle.

“Where do the bats live in Harrenhal? Lady Danelle’s giants bats?”

“In one of the ruined towers I should think.”

“I want to see that, if the towers still have the bats.” A little part of her shudders at the thought

Grandfather does not look as amused anymore. He beckons to her and she goes. He takes her head in his hands and forces her to look him in the eye.

“Do not go to Harrenhal, Arya. The castle has taken enough from the realm.”

“It’s just a story.”

“Every story has a grain of truth.”

Arya secretly hopes the truth is not the giant bats.

iv.

It is early morning and Arya is leaving her room, alone for the first time in four days, only to see Uncle Edmure leaning on the wall beside her door smiling widely.

“Good morning, sweet niece.” He says, eyes glittering over something Arya is sure she is about to find out.

“Good morning, Uncle Edmure. I was heading for breakfast.”

The man nods at that, “A good plan, but I was hoping to ask of you a favor.”

“What sort of favor?”

“You see, this day Marq Piper, Lymond Goodbrooke, and Ronald Vance were to ride to the town of Red Water, but alas I have been abandoned,’ Edmure looks so comically forlorn that Arya cannot help her giggle, ‘I wonder, dear, niece if you would like to join me on this adventure? You are the only person I could count on.”

“Yes!” Arya says enthusiastically. Getting out of Riverrun and getting to see new things is an exciting prospect. At Winterfell she had visited Winter Town with her family and had always enjoyed the visits. She is curious to see if the towns of south of the neck are much different.

“I am glad to hear it. Change into a suitable riding gown and then meet me in the stables.” Edmure says before walking down the hallway.

Arya rushes into her rooms, where her handmaid Becca is still straightening up.

“Uncle Edmure says I need a proper riding gown!” she exclaims, bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.

Becca finds Arya a travel gown and helps her to slip out of her usual day gown into the new one. Arya is impatient to get to the stables before Maester Vyman or Utherdyes or Grandfather to find out and put a stop to it, but she agrees to let Becca re-braid her hair. Usually Arya wears her hair down with the hair at her temples braided and pulled back in order to keep it out of face. Today Becca braids her hair into a crown plait, so her hair would not get mussed because of the wind. Arya did not care about the mussing of hair, but once Becca was done she was not going to ask her to undo it and do a simple braid nor would she do it herself. There was no time for either.

Arya hikes her skirts up and flat out runs to the stables, too excited to worry about anyone seeing. When she finally makes it to the stables her hair plait is a little less tight and she is slightly out of breath. Edmure is standing next to two horses in front of the stables, double checking one of the bags slung over a large stallion.

“There you are, I was beginning to think you decided to leave me to ride by myself as well.”

“I am here, Uncle. Becca wanted to braid my hair tighter than usual.”

“I am afraid I cannot sympathize,’ Edmure said running a hand through his own short hair, ‘Before we head out I have something for you.”

Edmure turns to grab something just behind the horses while Arya stands on the balls of her feet, trying to see what it is. He hands her a muddy-red travel cloak with a trout pin.

“It was your mother’s when she was about your age, I thought it might as well be put to good use instead of laying in some trunk.” Edmure explains.

Arya looks at the cloak in her hands. After coming to Riverrun it is not the first of Mother’s girlhood things she has been given. Upon deciding that Arya’s wardrobe was not appropriate for life in the South, Grandfather had ordered the servants to go through the trunks of Mother and Aunt Lysa’s girlhood gowns to see if there was anything suitable. They would make her a new gown for important events, but for the day to day it made more sense to just refit the gowns to fit her frame since she would outgrow them in time anyway.

She had spent a whole afternoon trying on gowns and having them pinned, so they could fit her. It turned out that she was shorter and skinnier than Mother and Aunt Lysa had been at her age. It was miserable, but at least Bethany was there to keep her company and Elaenor played them the beginning and middle of “Six Maids in a Pool”. She wore one of the newly fitted dresses today. A simple deep blue gown, with a hem that was slightly higher than usual that made it easier to move in so she did not have to worry as much about the hem getting dirty or ripped.

With the cloak on, she feels a bit odd. Should she not be in varying shades of gray? Most of her gowns at Winterfell were varying shades of gray and her cloaks were much the same. But Mother had been a Tully, hadn’t she?  If she had not been, Arya would not be in Riverrun calling Lord Edmure “Uncle”. Arya was born of House Stark, but she had been raised by a Tully and her Father loved a Tully, so there was no real betrayal here. Besides wouldn’t Mother be hurt if Arya rejected her gowns and cloaks?

“You look like your Mother when you are dressed like that.” Uncle Edmure says as he helps her on to a mare.

“It is the clothing. I look like Father and Jon Snow.”

“You may not see it, but I do.” Edmure says mounting his own horse and leading her out of the bailey, Delp and Enger following them out on their own horses.

“How do I look like her? My hair is brown, my face is long, and my eyes are gray. Sansa looks like a Tully, not me.”

“Coloring has nothing to do with it, you have her expressions and her laugh. When I hear you laughing I hear my sister.”

“Maybe you are mad.” Arya mutters.

“Mayhap I am, but it changes nothing. Besides the two of you have the same spirit.”

Arya laughs, a bit sadly, at that, “Mother is the perfect Lady, while I am…me.”

“If you think your mother was a perfect Lady when she was your age, you are wrong. She has always been good with courtesy, but she was as wild as she was tame when we were young. She used dive into the Red Fork in only her shift with Lysa and me. In fact she was the one who taught me to swim”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. She loved to go swimming and we spent many an afternoons playing in the gardens. She changed, though, as we got older. After Mother’s death Cat had to fill the role of Lady of Riverrun, just like you do.”

“I’m not good at it like Mother was, though.”

“Maybe you do not pick up the skills quite as fast,’ Edmure agrees, ‘But you are not hopeless. You go over the coin books with Utherdyes and you set up the rooms for your little companions and their hosts, and you did a good job at it.”

“Utherdyes said I could have done better.”

“Some people are never pleased. If it makes you feel better he does not do it to be cruel and from what I hear he does not think you are useless. Utherdyes may be a sour old man, but by the time you leave Riverrun for your husband’s keep you will be one of the best trained ladies in Westeros. Your mother figured it out once, and I know you can too.”

Arya is not sure what to say to that, instead she kicks at her mare to spur it ahead.

v.

_Father,_

_Maester Vyman says I may write you a letter as a way of practicing my penmanship. He says that my hand has improved, but I need to continue to practice. I am glad to hear of Bran. Do you think I could write to him now that he is awake? Grandfather is well and sends his regards. I do not see him often as he spends most of his time in his solar. Bethany Blackwood and Elaenor Mooton also send their regards. Elaenor has finally mastered Six Maidens in a Pool. Marq Piper tried accompanying her by singing, but his voice is ~~horrid~~ not appropriate for that song. Nymeria started howling by the time he got to the second verse. Uncle Edmure took me to Red Water Town this week past and it was not so different from Winter Town, though the market place is a bit larger. I made sure to stay with Uncle Edmure, though he wandered off, no matter what he says. It was fun. Nymeria and I miss you. _

_Your daughter,_

_Arya_

vi.

_Arya,_

_I am glad to hear that you have been practicing like Maester Vyman instructed. I am sure that Bran would love to hear from you now that he is awake. I know that he must miss you fiercely with only Rickon and Robb for company. You could tell him all about your adventure to Red Water. Tell your Grandfather that I send my own regards as well as to the girls. I am happy that the three of you appear to be getting along. If you need to a solution to the musical talents of Marq Piper I will gladly send you some of the singers from the court, the  Gods know we have enough of them. I miss you dearly, little wolf, and I am so proud of how you have been doing._

_~  Father_

 


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's insecurities and temper rear their ugly heads, Arya and Hoster talk, and Edmure receives life changing news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Three things:  
> 1) For timeline purposes, with the exception of chapter i, each chapter is meant to cover the important (or what i consider important) events of a moon. Less important now, but will be important later  
> 2) I know i said that this would probably be the chapter where ASoIaF came into play...but the characters side tracked me so we get hints of the plot instead of anything concrete.  
> 3) As we go through running a castle and living in Riverrun I've started adding little things that are (somewhat) historically accurate for medieval times, so anything special added will be mentioned in the end-notes for anyone interested. 
> 
> Okay. I think that's it. As always thank you for reading!

i.

_Dear Mother,_

_How are you? How is Robb and Bran and Rickon? How is Maester Luwin? I am well. Granfather says hello and I could not find Uncle Edmure for him to say anything. Riverrun is nice. Everyone is nice…except for Utherydes Wayn. Has he always been such a pil so grumpy? I think he is the grumpiest man is existence, but Grandfather says that if he is he has earned it. I am not sure about that. Tell Robb and Rickon I say hello and tell Bran I will write him soon._

_Yours,_

_Arya_

ii.

She does not receive a reply.

iii.

Metal clangs in the yard as the men spar, in a far corner Arya watches. Ser Robin Ryger is going against Paul Pemford, though Arya thinks he is holding back a bit. She has heard of Robin Ryger was a fierce fighter and Pemford is not the best of the Tully guards. As she watches she tries to repeat Ser Robin’s movements with Needle. Arya had only had one lesson – _stick them with the point end_ – and had figured that if she wanted to learn to use Needle she would have to teach herself. Or learn through observation. It is not terribly easy. The first issue is finding the time to learn. She still spends most of her time with Maester Vyman and Utherdyes Wayn, and when she is not with them, she is usually with Bethany and Elaenor and Septa Donyse. Every so often Edmure comes to find her and they go to visit a local village.  

The second problem is that she does not have the best view. From the corner she peaks around she can sometimes lose track of the men she is watching, or they move out of her line of sight. Arya would move closer, but she is scared that one of the men will see her and tell Grandfather. If Grandfather finds out that when they went through the old trunks for clothing, she nicked an old pair of Uncle Edmure’s breeches and tunic and practiced with a little sword she will probably locked in the embroidery room until winter came and went.

The third, and biggest, issue is that she has no one to practice with. It is all well and good for her to spar with her own shadow, but it feels hopeless. She had thought it would be like dancing. For some dances you did not need a partner to do the steps or if you did need a partner you could always imagine one. Even ones with a lift could be done by one jumping at the right time. Bethany sometimes does that when the mood strikes her. If Elaenor plays the right sort of song Bethany will dance and dance will some invisible partner, who Arya guesses is Alyn Haig, who Arya has not met but Bethany talks about him so often she might as well have. But this is not dancing, this is sword play and it takes two.

Arya knows that is unlikely to change anytime soon. As much as she dreams for someone to spar with her and help her learn the proper way to maneuver, she doubts it will happen. And yet she cannot give up. So as much as frustrated as she gets learning by spying, she continues to do it. She continues to spin and turn and slash because it is the only way for her to learn, her only option. Besides she cannot give up Needle because she misses Jon and Needle was from him. He would want her to keep going, he would muss her hair and tell her not to give up. He would tell her that the most important lesson was the first one; _stick them with the pointy end_.

iv.

Nymeria has gotten bigger. Arya has not really noticed before now as Nymeria runs ahead of her through on the grassy knoll. She is sure that Nymeria is overjoyed to be out of the keep just like she is. There were only so many embroidery and lessons that Arya could abide. The keep was starting to feel too small, the hallways too narrow. She woke with the dawn and snuck into the stables, making the stable boy scream higher than Bethany ever could. Still the boy saddled the horse quicker than Arya had expected and off she went.

Where exactly she was going, is still not exactly clear even to herself. She has thought to go Fair Market or Harren Town, but they were at least a day’s ride away and she is not sure that she could get to them or to the closer Red Water village by herself. Instead she settles for the meadows and hills. Anything is better than being inside of the keep at the moment. She tires of embroidery, even he usual games have lost some of their fun. Bethany and Elaenor helped to make it bearable, usually but these days even they could not improve the task and anyway Arya was avoiding Elaenor.

When news of the Tourney of the Hand had reached Riverrun Elaenor had started to ask Arya to write Sansa, had started to beg Arya to write Sansa. For three days straight, it felt as if she had heard of nothing, but Sansa.

“She is going to be at the Tourney of the Hand, Arya! Don’t you want to know what happens?” Elaenor exclaimed the day before, clearly put out. Elaenor is not as much of a romantic as Sansa or Septa Donyse, but she is still a lover of tourneys and their stories. Of knights riding for the love of a lady. Arya tried not to roll her eyes at her. After all what could one expect from a girl who was born in the land where Florian won his Jonquil.

“What is there to hear?’ Arya asked and frowned at a knot in her stitching.

“Everything! Who was there, who rode, who was given a favor? Who _won_?”

Arya chewed on her lip. She was a bit curious as well, but in order to get sufficient information she would have to go to Sansa. She missed Sansa sometimes, but mostly she was glad to have this break from her elder sister’s shadow. She tried her best not to think about whether Elaenor and Bethany would have preferred her sister had they met her. Arya thinks Bethany might have preferred Arya, but Elaenor…Elaenor probably would have adored Sansa. They were of an age and Elaenor could teach Sansa how to play the harp and Sansa could teach Elaenor how to play the bells. They could gush over knights and stories and songs. And when they embroidered Elaenor would not take Sansa’s work to untangle the knots and call her hopeless.

The thing was, though, when Elaenor commandeered Arya’s work, as she had that day, she did it with a smile. When she called Arya hopeless, she gave a deep sigh that did not match her grin. Her grin was different than Jeyne Poole’s had been when Arya was corrected by Septa Mordane. Jeyne’s had been sharp and a bit too toothy, while Elaenor’s tended to be wide and full of good humor. Elaenor loved nothing more than too tease and joke. She could be a bit sharp and sometimes her jokes got too close to hurt, but it was in good humor. Arya likes Elaenor’s wit even better when it is not directed at her, it is at its best when directed at others, especially when she did her impression of Utherydes Wayn.

“I would think that the Cersei-”

“You aren’t supposed to call the Queen by her given name, Arya.” Bethany chimed, earning a glare.

“Will be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“She might not be!’ Elaenor said, ‘It could be anyone.”

“Why do even care?”

“I wish I was there.”

Arya does not know if the _instead of here_ is meant or is in her mind. Either way before she could truly contemplate it her cheeks were burning, and her mouth was dry. In her head Jeyne Poole was neighing and neighing and neighing. In her head Beth Cassel was choosing Sansa over her, even though they are closer in age. Sansa was not even there and yet…

“You should go then. Leave here and go see the stupid tourney and find stupid Sansa!” she said, her voice had sounded shriller than she had intended. The anger mixed with shame and before Bethany or Elaenor or Septa Donyse can stop her, rebuke her, she fled the room. She hiked up her skirts and sprint to the doors. She just needs to get out, away from the knotted embroidery and Elaenor’s dreams and Jeyne Poole’s neighing.

She had spent the rest of the day in a forgotten corner of the garden with Nymeria, unwilling to go get a lecture from the Septa or Grandfather or Uncle or whomever would inevitably come to tell her off. When it became too dark to stay outside she had gone through the kitchens and begged cook for a piece of pigeon pie ( _Just this once, m’lady)_  and slipped quietly into her room. Some had knocked on her door that night, Grandfather or Uncle by the sound of it, but she had pretended to be asleep when the door was open. When Bethany had knocked, Arya had done the same. Most of the anger had fizzled into nothing, but the embarrassment still raged. It did not help that Arya has found herself very good at apologizing.

She wishes Jon was here. Jon would muss her hair and give her a hug and tell her what to do. She had tried to send a letter to Jon, but when she asked Maester Vyman to send it he said that it would be inappropriate. Jon was a man of the Night’s Watch now, he was very busy. Not too busy for her, he never was she argued. The Maester had changed tactics. If Jon got a raven and the other boys did not, then they might be cruel to him out of jealousy. Arya did not have an argument for that, though she could not imagine anyone other than Mother who did not like Jon. He was Jon, the best person in the entire world. Arya had decided then that the next time Maester Vyman sent a letter for her she would watch what he did, so she could do it herself next time and send a letter to Jon. Even if he got a letter, no one could ever dislike Jon.

v.

“Do we have enough ale?”

“I don’t know.” Arya says miserably, almost regretting the day she had gone for her impromptu ride.

Grandfather had not been pleased when she had returned from her ride.  The stable master had sent her straight to her Grandfather’s solar when she returned just as the sun was setting, Nymeria the traitor had slinked off before they had made it to the solar. Her wolf was brave and true, but she always seemed to know when a lecture was coming and slipped off. It was rather annoying considering Nymeria had seemed eager to go when Arya had told her of the plan this morning. Was anyone on her side at all?

When she reached Grandfather’s solar, she peeked in, before entering. The servants had brought food up, but he had not touched his plate yet. Instead he was leaning back with his eyes closed, he looked a bit frailer than usual. Sometimes he seemed a bit frail, Arya figured it was age.

When she slowly came into the solar, Grandfather sat up and opened his eyes to look at her. She stood silently in front of, trying very hard not to look at the floor like she wished to. She would not be ashamed. She done her very best to be good these past two moons and she had simply needed a break. Nothing had gone wrong, either, she most certainly had not gotten back so late because she had gotten a little lost.

He stared at her a moment and then released a deep sigh. “Well sit down, then.” He said gesturing to the chair in front of the desk, where what she presumed was her trencher sat.

She took her seat without saying anything. What was she supposed to say? Father never let the silence go on and on, he would tell her what was wrong immediately. She was not sure what to do here.

“Did you enjoy your ride?” Grandfather said after taking a bite from the food in his trencher.

“Yes, Grandfather.” She said, deciding that lying and saying ‘no’ would do her no favors.

“Good. It is good that someone had a good day today. Utherydes had to start counting the food stocks today and still had to deal with other small issues with little help. Septa Donyse and the girls were beside themselves with worry. I, of course, had to deal with all of them.” Grandfather said evenly, almost conversationally.

“I thought, Utherydes could manage…he did well before I came. Besides I’m sure the girls were perfectly fine.”

“Whether or not Utherydes was doing his job perfectly well before and I’ve heard all about what happened between you and Elaenor the other day and we will speak of it, believe me, but I have more pressing concerns. What you did was irresponsible, unsafe-”

“Nymeria was with me!”

“and unbecoming of a lady.”

“I don’t want to be a lady!”

“And I do not wish to have to lecture little girls on the importance of not running off, but we do not always get a choice. You have responsibilities, Arya, you cannot simply abandon them because you are bored or upset or feeling foolish.” Grandfather said, his voice still even. It was almost infuriating how even his voice was.

“I…just wanted a break.” Arya says, trying to keep the steel in it.

“And you did not think to say something?”

“You would have said no.”

“Not at the moment, mayhap, but we could have tried to come to an agreement. The day will come when you do not get a break, when you have to keep going even when you do not want to, even when it is hard. You cannot just run away.”

“I didn’t run away!”

“No? Then what did you do? You left and gave no one any warning. That meant that when Cook needed to know what to do for meals and where to send plates to he had to pull Utherydes away from what he was doing. Becca wanted to know if she should change out the bedding in the occupied rooms yet or just some of them. Septon Barth wanted to start preparations for Maiden's Day. A seamstress needs to be called. The Seven knows what other issues came up today. You owe Utherydes an apology and a great deal of thanks for taking care of these issues. All of these things are your responsibility. As acting Lady of Riverrun you have a duty to the people of the household. What are the Tully words, girl?”

“Family, duty, honor.”

“That’s right, except in cases where family is involved our duty comes first.”

“I did not ask to be here, though! I didn’t want to have these responsibilities.” Arya argued, because it is all she had left. The guilt about Elaenor grew and took a new shape when Grandfather spoke.

Grandfather gave a low humorless chuckle, “We rarely ask for what life gives us what we want, child. You may not have asked to come here, but here you are. You would have done what I have asked of you eventually child. Is it not better to learn how to do them while the people around you are willing to forgive when you make mistakes? What do you think happens when you enter your husband’s keep?”

“I won't marry.” Arya said simply, taking a bite of potato.

“Oh no? Then what shall you do? Become a Silent Sister? Shall I send you to them now?”

“I’ll stay in Winterfell.”

“Winterfell? I’m sure your brother will be very happy to have you there when your father is finally right, and winter comes. You’ll be there instead of wed to man who may have been able to provide food or money or some kind of aid so they did not die within the wall of Winterfell.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life rarely is, child. You will wed because it will help your family, just as you carry out your duties here to help me. We all make sacrifices whether it be a bit of fun or staying in the place where one was born. You do not have to worry about marriage just yet, all I ask of you is for you to carry out your duties here. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

He nodded, looking tired again. It made Arya feel worse.

“Now, what happened with the Mooton girl? Septa Donyse says she upset you, but none of them were sure how. Something about a tourney?”

“Elaenor does not want to be here.” Arya mumbled, her face burning.

“No? I was under the impression that you all got on well. Did she say so?”

“She said she wanted to be in King’s Landing.”

“Why did she say that?”

Arya shrugged at that.

“I asked the Blackwood girl, this afternoon. She said that Elaenor has been asking you to write your sister for information about the tourney. Seems to me like she wanted information, not a change of scenery.”

“She said she wanted to be there.”

Grandfather laughed then, making Arya’s face turn even redder though this time it had more to do with irritation than embarrassment.

“It’s not funny. If she wants to be there so badly, she should go, and she can befriend Sansa while she is there! Maybe she’ll even be crowned the stupid Queen of stupid Love and Beauty!”

Grandfather continued to laugh at her. Arya narrowed her eyes and stared at him until he caught his breath.

“Arya, sweet girl, most of wish we were at the tourney. It is not about you or Riverrun, tourneys are great fun. I bet you would even like to see one…though I fail to see what this has to do with Sansa.”

Arya choose to stare at her trencher instead of answering him. She did not want to talk about Sansa and Jeyne Poole with Grandfather. She wanted to keep that anger to herself. _It was a bit late for that, wasn’t it?_ A voice sniped in her head and Grandfather sat silent, clearly waiting on an answer.

“Girls usually…like Sansa better…Elaenor would probably like Sansa better. Sansa plays the bells and can sing and knows all the stories and her embroidery is always perfect.”

“I’ve never met your sister, Arya, so I cannot tell you if you are right, what I can tell you is that the Mooton girl clearly likes you. If you two did not get along you would not spend so much time together, I’m sure you have other options than being around each other all the time. Besides she seemed pretty upset that she had upset you, though I will say she also seemed hurt by your reaction.”

“Even if she does like me, I’ve ruined it now.”

“How?”

“I lost my temper…and I shouldn’t have.”

“No,’ Grandfather agreed, ‘you shouldn’t have. You have not ruined anything, though. It is not as if you broke her damned harp and set the thing on fire. You did not insult her family. All you can do is apologize and if she forgives you then all is well and if she doesn’t…well then, she does not. If all it takes to ruin a friendship is one simple overreaction, then mayhap you need not be terribly close. I would advise, however, that this does not become a habit or else one day she will not forgive you and no one will blame her for it.”

“…I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“I am sure you will figure it out. I will give you a hint, I’ve heard there are fresh apple cakes in the kitchen. Now, I beg your leave, granddaughter, I find that I am rather tired.”

“Yes, Grandfather.” She said and got up to tell a servant to come clears the trenchers and figure out how to apologize.

“Arya?” he called just as she reached the door.

“Yes, grandfather?” she asked turning around to face him.

“Do not go riding so far all alone.”

“But Ny-”

“I know Nymeria was with you, and I’ve no doubt she would protect you with all she had. But what happens when people who want to hurt you out number you? Bad things happen to girls who ride by themselves.”

She decided it best not to argue, “Yes, Grandfather.”

She told a nearby servant (Jeyne, she thought her name was) to clear the table and headed to the kitchen, halfway there she changed her mind and when to her solar.

About an hour later she stood in front of Elaenor’s chambers with two fresh apple cakes and a small scroll of paper. She stared at the door and chewed her lip, she truly did not want to do this. She had only apologized to her siblings and parents and they had always forgiven her if only because they had to. Elaenor did not have to. _I’m a direwolf…direwolves are never afraid_ she told herself before knocking.

“Come in.” Elaenor called.

Arya opened the door, to see Elaenor sitting near the fire with a book. She looked a bit surprised to see Arya, but she did not immediately shew her away.

“I-I brought apple cakes…’Arya said and felt her cheeks flush, ‘and a raven scroll for Sansa. I started it, but you have to help me finish it because I’m not sure what to ask…”

Elaenor just looked at her for a few moments, Arya was about to call it quits when Elaenor smiled at her. “Are they both for me?”

“No, one is for me.” Arya said as she went over and sat on the Myrish carpet next to Elaenor’s chair.

“Gee. Some peace treaty, not even two cakes.”

“If I give you the other cake, I don’t have to send the letter to Sansa.”

“You drive a hard bargain,’ Elaenor huffed and took a seat next to Arya, ‘Now about this letter…”

She and Elaenor ended up writing what Arya was sure was the longest raven scroll in existence. It was worth it though, to feel secure in her friendship again. She also apologized to Utherydes, as grandfather said to, and he accepted…he was a lot less easy to win over than Elaenor. It was now day three of helping him do an inventory of the food stores.

“How do you not know, m’lady?”

“I’m not done counting?”

“Why are you counting?”

“You wanted to know how much ale there is.”

“Direct a servant to do it and move on. Your job is to direct, not count.”

“You made me count all of the dried chicken yesterday and all of the barrels of salt the day before! Why have I been counting instead of directing if I am supposed to direct?”

“We do not have all day, m’lady, please go find someone to count. Be sure to make sure that they actually can before you send them here.”

Arya could only groan as she went to go find some page or cupbearer.

vi.

Bethany grumbles as she puts a walnut on top of the smiling image of the bride and groom painted on the board. Elaenor and Bethany have been teaching Arya the games of the Riverlands, though she knew some of them, and House Fortune has become a favorite way to spend time. When Elaenor had first brought out the board and dice, Arya had been weary. There are few board games up North and most of them took what felt like an eternity, so Arya had never had the patience for them.

House Fortune, however, is fun. The dice allow for some suspense and the betting aspect allows for stakes. They do not bet coins, of course, opting instead to use sweets and nuts and small fruits.  The fruit was used less due to the time they played that Elaenor put a small plum on to a square containing the image of two jousting knights and the image had been left with a faint purple hue afterwards.

Its Arya’s turn to grumble when she rolls  four. With a deep sigh she hands a sugared almond to Septa Donyse, who does not play but has been roped into the game anyway. Traditionally if someone rolls a four the owner of the board is given a coin, but since none of them owned the game, it had belonged to some bygone Tully, they agreed to give the Septa or Becca the payment instead. Septa Donsye had halfheartedly protested once before settling into her role. Arya consoles herself that at least she has better luck than Bethany who can seems cursed to forever roll sevens and fours with little respite.

Elaenor has the best luck this round, picking up more than she has to put down. Elaenor is about to roll the dice while Arya prays to the Old Gods and the New that the girl will finally roll a four herself when the door to they sitting room they are occupying slams open. Elaenor drops the dice and all eyes turn to the door to see a smiling Edmure.

“Good afternoon, niece. Ladies. Septa.”

“Hello, Uncle,’ Arya says, ‘It is a surprise to see you.”

“Cannot I not come to see my niece?”

“Not during the day, usually. You have duties.”

“Don’t we all? Maybe I should ask Wayn to give you some of mine.”

Arya pulls a face making Edmure laugh.

“Keep making that face and it will stick that way. Then no one but a Frey will wed you.” He says giving her nose a tweak.

Arya bats his hand away, “I’m not going to wed a Frey, or anyone else for that matter.”

“You and the Blackfish. But you will have to wed someone. What will you do when your Father orders you to?”

Arya thinks about it for a moment, “I’ll wed a tree.”

“A tree?” Edmure and Elaenor ask in unison. Bethany, for her part, looks less than impressed.

“Yes. A tall tree and when Father or Grandfather or suitors or you come for me, I will climb high in the branches and you shall never get me down.”

Edmure laughs at that, a bit longer than Arya appreciates but his laughter is contagious, and she finds herself laughing too, much to the annoyance of the seamstress.

“Now, I’ve come to tell you that I am making the trip to Harroway Town and wish to know if you would like anything?”

“To go with you.”

“No, not this time.”

“Please, uncle? I won’t ride ahead or anything! Promise!” Arya near begs.

“Not this time, Arya.’ He says firmly, ‘How about some sweetbread or a ribbon or something?”

“…Gingerbread or spice nuts?” she says sounding a bit morose.

“I can do that, though I will have to be weary of the young Vance or he might steal the nuts from me.’ He gave her another smile and a peck on the cheek and stealing a medlar from Arya’s bounty before giving a sweeping bow to the rest of the room, ‘Ladies. Septa”

Arya stares at the door a moment before turning back to the game, her good mood slightly dampened, only to see that Elaenor had rolled a twelve. Arya releases another deep long-suffering sigh she watches Elaenor clear the board with a cheery, “And the king takes all!”

vii.

“M’Lord! M’Lord! _Lord Edmure_!”

“What is it? I am running a bit late, Pate, and we are trying to beat the heat.”

“It’s your Lord Father, m’lord…”

“What has happened?”

“Lord Hoster has collapsed, m’lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the history part of these notes!  
> 1) I've read metas that say the Riverlands are based on medieval Germany and we're going with that, so I'm basing a lot of stuff that happens culturally in the Riverlands off of that area  
> 2) The game the girls play near the end is a real game called Gluckshaus (or House of Fortune). It was a gambling played on cloth or wooden boards, some of which were intricately decorated.  
> 3) Gingerbread was well known in Medieval Germany. One of the best known places to get gingerbread was Numenberg


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya gets a promotion she does not want, news of Tyrion Lannister's arrest reaches Riverrun, the Mountain is starting a bloody campaign in the Riverlands, and Arya is not the only one to who have some inferiority issues when it comes to an elder sibling.

i.

_Dearest Arya,_

_The tourney was marvelous; I am sure you would have loved it. Ser Loras Tyrell rode very gallantly. He is truly the best knight in the entire kingdom. He is also the most handsome; he is almost as handsome as Prince Joffrey. I believe that even you would swoon if you saw him. Ser Loras even gave me a rose! Jeyne agreed with me in the case of Ser Loras’ handsomeness, of course, but she truly only had eyes for the Lord Beric Donderrion. Lord Beric is a very fair rider, but he was no match for our Loras. Loras would have won the tourney, but he forfeited it to the Hound because he is so very gallant. Ser Gregor (the Hound’s brother, I believe) tried to hurt Ser Loras, if you can believe it and accused him of cheating, but the Hound stepped in. In order to show his gratitude, Loras forfeited the match as any true knight would. Oh, it has been wondrous, sister, there are feasts every night with songs and mummers. It is almost like a song. Send my love to Grandfather and Uncle Edmure._

_With fondness,_

_Sansa_

ii.

Arya’s days get busier after Grandfather collapsed. He is confined to his bed, so it is up to her and Edmure to run the castle. Edmure acts as Lord of Riverrun in totality these days, he worries about running the Riverlands whiles Arya worries about running the keep. She still has Utherydes, of course, but Maester Vyman is not available as often. Most of the time he is doing his usual duties when he can while caring for Grandfather.

“He is sick, Arya.” Edmure had said when Arya had asked what happened. She had heard the commotion and heard that Grandfather had collapsed, but that was all the information she had until she had corned Edmure that evening. She had tried to go see for herself, but Septa Donyse had firmly forbidden it ( _Let the Maester do his work, child)_ and had kept too close of a watch on her for Arya to slip away unnoticed. She admits that sometimes she misses having a Septa who fawned over her sister. It was much easier to slip away from Septa Mordane than Septa Donyse.

“What do you mean?”

“No one is really sure, but he’s weak and will be confined to bed.”

“How long?”

“Maester Vyman said he could not be positive, but it will be for...for a long time.” Edmure looked almost as tired as Grandfather then and a little lost.

“What do we do?”

“Pray. Carry on.’ Edmure went on a knee in front of her so they were almost eye to eye and took her by the shoulder, ‘I have to be the Lord now, I need to run the Riverlands. I need your help, Arya. I need you to help run Riverrun.”

Arya could only stare at him as he leaned back and reach for something on the table. When he turned back to her and she saw what was in his hands her stomach flipped. He held a golden figure of the crone in his hand, from it were several different chains all of the chains had keys at the end of them, except for one that ended in a tiny figurine that Arya thought was the Mother. Mother had carried keys in Winterfell as the chatelain, but it had been a simple hoop of keys that she would keep with her, still, Arya would not have felt comforted if her if the golden chains were an iron ring. She could not do this.

“I can’t” she blurted out, recoiling from him.

“You can, Arya. I know it seems like a lot, but you have Utherydes and your Septa and the girls. You have me too, I’ll help when I can I promise.”

“I’ll write Mother! I’ll tell her Grandfather is ill an-”

“No,” Edmure cut her off, ‘You cannot tell anyone outside of this keep. You make sure the girls know this as well. No one can know that Father is ill. He will never allow it, besides we are getting trout- _odd_ reports from the Westerlands. And even if we were not getting those reports we could still do this by ourselves. We do not need Cat.”

“What is happening in the Westerlands?”

“Probably nothing, but until this is figured out it is not the time for people think that Father is weak. Besides with his pride, he would be furious if anyone told.’ He took her by the shoulder again and looked at her almost desperately, ‘Please, Arya. I need your help, I will feel a lot better knowing that Utherydes is not looking after the keep all by himself.”

She wanted to say no. Wanted to look at her Uncle to keep his keys and responsibilities, but when she looks him in the eye she realizes he and mother have the same eyes. Mother, Uncle, and Grandfather all have the same eyes.

Grandfather’s voice mixed with mother’s in her head. _Family, Duty, Honor,_ they remind her. And then Father’s voice is whispering to her as well about showing the Riverlands what a daughter of the North is capable of.

Arya screamed _no_ on the inside. Screamed it again and again. Admitted to being a little girl after all. A little girl who could not do this. A girl who did not want this. She wanted to ride with Nymeria and swim with Elaenor and Bethany. She wanted to finally visit Harroway Town with Uncle Edmure. She wanted to practice with Needle. She wanted to see Jon. She did not want whatever this was. On the outside she forced herself to reach for the figure and the chains in Uncle’s hand, they were cold and Arya thought that they must have weighed more than Hodor.

“And Utherydes will help?” she asked, her voice sounding too little to be her own yet the question was hers.

“Yes, every step of the way. Everyone in Riverrun will do their best to help you, Arya.”

“There is no other choice?”

“None.”

iii.

It takes her near a full week to sneak into Grandfather’s chambers. Her days were always busy, so she had promised her herself that one night when everyone was asleep she would sneak to his room, but when she laid down sleep over took her all too quickly and then suddenly the sun was up. She rose with the sun and went with Uncle Edmure to the Sept to pray for Grandfather to recover. She had been ready to tell Uncle Edmure that she did not worship the Seven when had at first asked her, but he looked so… worn out that she did not have the heart. So instead she spends a few minutes kneeling in front of the Mother every morning, praying to whoever was listening to help Grandfather. Then it's off to break her fast with Utherydes who tells her of important or special tasks she needs to focus on that day while she eats. He has to split his time between her and Uncle Edmure as Uncle settles in as Lord, so Arya has been doing more and more on her own.

The majority of the week had been completing her normal duties and starting to plan the menus with Cook for the week, with one added job to do. Food supplies had arrived in Riverrun from Seagard, and Utherydes wanted her to watch how they preserved the apples and pears and dates.

“Not doing the preserving, mind you, but observing the process. One day you will need to order it yourself and how will you know if the servants have done it correctly if you have never seen it done?” he had said.

She did end up helping, which was somewhat fun if only for the novelty of it. Preserving food and the process in which it is accomplished was never something Arya had dwelled on in the North for she had no real need to. Mother and Father never really brought up the food stores and how you kept food for as long as possible, or at least they never did it around her. It turned out to be somewhat interesting, in part because she had convinced Cook to let her help.

The cutting of the apples and pears had taken some time, but at least she had enjoyed doing something with her hands. Most of her duties involved telling someone to do something instead of actually doing it. The only real thing that she actually did was go over the book of coins when Utherydes had completed it to check for errors. When the old man figured out, she was only skimming it as quick as possible to get away he started leaving intentional errors for her to find. Sometimes he did not, meaning she could not just look for the error and be done with it, she actually had to go through it.

Waiting for the fruit and sugar to cook had been tedious, but at least pouring the honey over the fruit in the jars was somewhat fun. By the end of it, her hands were sticky and even after she had dunked them in water they still smelled of honey. She is about to go find Bessa when she notices the fresh lemon cakes. While Cook focused on sending the jars of honey and fruit to the storeroom, Arya nicked one of the cakes to share with Grandfather and an apple for herself before heading for the stairs. It was just around the nooning meal, so the servants should have brought Grandfather his food and the Maester should have gone to eat meaning Arya could finally go see Grandfather.

Now Arya creeps to Grandfather’s door and presses her ear against it, listening for Maester Vyman or Utherydes or Uncle Edmure. After a minute of silence, she decides that she is safe and nudges the door open, trying to see if Grandfather is awake or not.

“I was wondering when I would see you.” Grandfather calls out to her.

Arya enters the room fully then, “Hello, Grandfather.”

“Hello, Arya. I would have thought you would be at the nooning meal.” Grandfather says. He is sitting up in bed a tray in his lap. He looks tired, more tired than usual, but not as bad as she has been picturing in her head.

She presents him with the apple and lemon cake after hauling herself up on to the bed without even thinking about it. She has always crawled on to the bed of her parents or siblings or Bethany or Elaenor. “Nooning meal and dessert.”

He quirks a brow at her, “Only an apple for a meal? That does not seem like much.”

“That’s why I brought the lemon cake.”

“I thought the lemon cake was for me.”

“It’s for _us_. We are going to split it.”

“I see. What were you doing in the kitchen? Simply stealing food.”

Arya hums and takes a bite of her apple, “Fruit came in from Seagard and Utherydes wanted me to see how the cooks preserved it.”

“Finish chewing before you speak,’ Grandfather says giving her a look, ‘Did you pay attention to what they did?”

“Yes. I even helped.” She says without thinking.

“You helped?”

“I cut the apples and pears and then I poured the honey into the jars after. Did you know that waiting for water to boil is one of the most boring things in the world?”

“I was unaware,’ he says dryly, ‘Arya, it is inappropriate for you to be working in the kitchen. Observing is one thing, doing is another.”

Arya frowns at that, “I liked doing it and anyway how would I know it was being done right if I have never actually done it.”

“That is why you were supposed to be _observing.”_

“That’s no fun. And it’s not like I hurt anything. Cook even said I did a good job.”

“You are a lad-”

“I’m not a lady.”

“Are we on this again?” Grandfather asked with a sigh.

“I’m a chatelain. Utherydes says there is a difference sometimes.” She says holding out her chains and keys for Grandfather to see.

“I see no difference.”

“There is. Ladies sing and dance and embroider and write poetry, I don’t do any of that. The only thing we have in common is that be both help to run keeps.”

“You have nothing else in common? I was under the impression that you and the Mooton and Blackwood girl got on well, even with your little arguments.”

Arya takes a final bite of her apple and gestures to her mouth by way of answer. Grandfather chuckles and pushes his tray away from him, slumping further into the bed.

“I’ll allow you this one, give you time to think. Tell me, girl, has anything of interest happened? No one has told me anything, says I need to focus on resting.”

Arya contemplates a moment, trying to think of anything Grandfather would want to hear. “Uncle Edmure said something is happening in the Westerlands.”

“What is happening?”

“He would not tell me. He said it was probably nothing.”

“Mmm. Anything else?”

Arya does not know what Grandfather wants to hear other than about the Westerland so she tells him what she has heard the past few days. She tells him of the on-going argument between serving girls Myra and Tansy about who would take the wine to the knights at dinner. She tells him about how one of the squires nearly shot Ser Desmond Grell with a cross-bow. She tells him how the men who brought the goods from Seaguard told her girls of the stories that sailors told them, that the sailors had had to a giant Kraken to make it to the port. On and on she goes about high borns and low borns and everything in between. Until finally in the middle of telling him about how she wanted to send a small medlar tree to Winterfell because the fruit comes even in the winter, she notices he has fallen asleep.

She eats the lemon cake by herself before she calls for a servant to take Grandfather’s tray and wonders off to find Septa Donyse and the girls. They had promised to teach which berries were which out in the garden and now while she could think of no one to come find her would be a perfect time.

iv.

“She has gone mad,” Edmure says, slamming the door open with enough force to make Nymeria rise from her spot near the fire. 

Arya and Grandfather have been waiting for him. Grandfather told her a few days ago that he wished for all of them to share the evening meal together and so Arya started to have trays sent to Grandfather’s room for the dinner. Edmure had kept them waiting this evening for so long that even Grandfather, a stickler for propriety, told her to start eating before her food went cold.

“Who has gone mad?” Arya asks though Edmure does not appear to hear her.

“They both have. The Mountain and his men are ravaging villages and towns and she does this!”

“Who has done what?” Arya tries again.

“I bet this is why it started. All this pillaging and burning is the Lannister’s revenge!”

“Edmure, enough,’ Grandfather says sternly, ‘What has happened?”

Edmure hears that, but he does not stop pacing, “Catelyn took Tyrion Lannister prisoner at the inn at the crossroads. Apparently, she said she was taking him to Winterfell, but I bet she takes him to Lysa.”

“Does it say on what charges?”

“She accuses him of trying to murder her Brandon.”

“The imp tried to kill Bran?” Arya asks, dropping she fork and turning to give her uncle her full attention. Nymeria, less concerned, scarfs off up the piece of sausage that went to the floor.

“Sent an assassin apparently. Cat says the assassin had the imp’s dagger. It is foolishness. What was she even doing in the South?”

“Edmure this is a discussion that can wait. I’m sure whatever your sister has done is justified.” Grandfather says, looking from Edmure to Arya. It is obvious that Grandfather does not want to talk about it in front of her. That’s stupid! Bran is her little brother and Mother is, well, her mother, so she has a right to know what is happening to them. Never mind the fact that she half runs the keep now so what happens in the Riverlands concerns her as much as Grandfather and Uncle.

“Why would he want to kill Bran?” Arya asks. She cannot imagine anyone who would ever want to hurt Bran. He was sweet and funny and fun. She used to go climb with him and steal sweets from the kitchen and go riding together. Sometimes when everyone was busy, and she snuck away from Septa Mordane he would even let her use his bow and arrows. She had tried to use one of the practice ones left by a squire before, but it had been too heavy for her. Bran’s had been just about right, he had even promised that when he moved on to heavier bows, he would let her have his lighter one. Of course Mother took Tyrion Lannister captive if he tried to hurt Bran.

“Not everything that Catelyn does makes sense, Father. She makes mistakes!” Edmure snaps, waving the raven scroll at his Father.

A second question comes to Arya while Grandfather tries get Uncle Edmure to stop his ranting. What _was_ Mother doing at the inn at the Crossroads? She came so far South, but she did not come to see Arya, she did not even tell her. Did she come to seek justice for Bran or had she come down to see Father? Had she seen Sansa? Arya wants to know why the imp would try to kill Bran, but she does not think she wants to know how long her Mother has been in the South or how far South she went.

v.

Arya finally holds her breath longer than Elaenor. She ends up taking in water when she gives a cry of delight, but even as she coughs upon reaching the surface she cannot stop trying to smile. Finally. After near two moons of holding her breath in the bath, holding her bath as she did her sums, holding her breath while she swung needle, holding her breath at least once a day. Finally, it paid off!

“Keep your eye out for the Children, El, my day has come!” she crows, having finally found the ability to breathe.

“Don’t get too excited. It was luck.” Elaenor says, flicking a soaked strand of hair off of her shoulder.

“Aw don’t be a sore loser,’ Bethany chides, doing her best Septa Donyse, ‘It is unbecoming of a lady of your station.”

Arya laughs at Bethany’s indignant cry when Elaenor drags her into the Red Fork by Bethany ankle. It feels good to play in the Fork again, to spend time just having fun. She had done it far too little as of late, but today had been the perfect day for it. Between Bessa and Utherdyes, Arya figured out a schedule of how often an intense cleaning needed to be done in the keep. Every moon the rushes needed to be replaced, the myrish rugs needed to be taken out and beaten, the beds needed to be cleaned, the sheets taken to the laundress, and the tapestries needed to be cleaned. The rushes and the tapestries in the great hall and public spaces would be done after the evening meal and everyone had retired, but the main rooms would be cleaned during the day. With little else to do, or little else that she wanted to do, and nowhere else to go where she would not be in the way she had lured Elaenor and Bethany out of the keep, which took very little effort.

Arya climbs out of the water and sprawls out on the grass, enjoying the way the sun felt on her skin. She found that she was getting used to the heat of the South, or rather Riverrun. Elaenor had told her that Maidenpool was a bit warmer and that King’s Landing was supposed to be a lot warmer. Still Arya is proud that she is adapting. She admits, though, that she misses the snow. Misses having snowball fights with her brothers and sometimes goading Sansa into one. She misses riding with the cold hard biting her cheeks making them red, while the rest of her kept warm. She misses curling up on the bearskin rug in front of the fire with Bran and Rickon at night listening to Old Nan’s stories. She misses the chilly mornings of sitting with Father in the Godswood, one of the few times she could get him to herself. She misses the North, she misses home.

“We should head back,’ Bethany says, ‘It’ll be the nooning meal soon.”

“Give me another minute.” Arya sighs out before her gown and cloak are thrown at her.

She pats off the excess water with the cloak before sliding her gown on, grimacing as the sleeves clung to her arms. She hates sliding her gowns on to wet skin, they cling too tight. Her shifts were light enough that when they clung it was not terrible, but the heaviness of her usual gowns made her grimace. At least the ride back to the keep would dry her off. One of the things she loved about the Riverlands was just how fast she could go on a horse. She was the best rider of her siblings, but in the North, she had to remember to weary of trees and ice. In the Riverlands ice was no issue and the part of the Red Fork they visited had more grass than trees. The hilly knolls were fun to race down at top speed and just keep going. Arya loved nothing more than the feeling of flying when she got her mare up to top speed.

“Come, Elaenor, I will let you try to redeem yourself. Let’s see who reaches the keep first.” Arya says with a large grin, they both know who the better rider is.

Elaenor rolls her eyes as she mounts her horse, but agrees readily enough, “If today has brought you luck, perhaps it will do the same for me.”

As soon as Bethany is on her horse, Arya nudges her mare into action. Trout, the palfrey that was unofficially Arya’s, is faster than the horses up North. When she questioned the stable master, he had said that Southeron horses tended to be faster if only because they had less hair and tended to have less mass. He said that if she wanted to truly feel the speed of a horse, she would have to find herself a Sandsteed. She has no Sandsteed now, but she puts Trout’s speed to use now.

Elaenor is nearly next to her, her own horse a quick thing that she brought from Maidenpool, and Bethany is just behind. Bethany is about as sure on a horse as she is in the water while Elaenor is a better swimmer than she is a rider. Arya herself is surer on a horse than she does in the water, but she will never admit that. Arya snaps the reigns urging Trout to go faster. The wind is finally lifting some of Arya’s hair off of her shoulders, which is quite the feat considering it had laid plastered there. She gives a laugh as Nymeria surges ahead of her and by the Gods today is a good day. The sky is bright blue, and the sun hangs high above them, all around them is nothing but green. She can smell the faint spiciness of the wildflowers growing and the heat from the sun feels good on her skin and then Riverrun is in view.

For the second time that day she wins. It is a good day and the day is not yet half over. Arya cannot keep the wide grin from her face as Elaenor and Bethany dismount. Bethany is retying her braid while Elaenor is looking put out.

“This day is yours apparently.” The elder girl sighs.

“We should play House Fortune after the nooning meal,” Arya says, grinning.

“It’s not fair if you have extra luck.”

“Whose to say that any of this has been luck? I’m a fair rider and I can hold my breath.”

“Aye, you are a fair rider, but you got lucky in the Fork.”

“I did not!” Arya snaps, slightly disgruntled as they head towards the Great Hall, Bethany looping their arms together.

“I had to sneeze. One cannot sneeze underwater.”

“What say you, Bethany? You saw Elaenor come up. Did she sneeze?”

Bethany looks thoughtful a moment, obviously taking her responsibility of judge seriously, “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember? It was barely an hour ago.” Elaenor says incredulously.

“Yeah! Were you even paying attention?”

“I was!”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Bethany is about to retort when they enter the Great Hall to see that it was fuller than they had expected. When coming back from rides Arya and company typically cut through the Great Hall and walk through the Godswood from there to the rest of the keep if it is not being used. Uncle Edmure or Utherydes usually warn Arya if guests are coming. No one had told her today.

“My Lord, they burnt the village and took what harvested crops we had. We have heard that the Mountain and his men have been doing raids on other villages.” A man slightly younger than grandfather says. With him are five other men of varying ages, they appear to be from one of the nearby villages. Arya has only been to Muddy River and only the once, so if these men are from there or a different village, she is unsure. They stand in front of the large oak chair that Edmure sits on, with Utherydes standing just behind him to his right.

Bethany and Elaenor try to sneak quietly out of the hall, but Arya stays where she is.

“I am sorry to hear of this. My Father sent men to King’s Landing to demand that the Mountain answer for these raids. Until they return, I will send some men with you to help fix the damages done to your houses,’ Uncle Edmure says, ‘Before you leave I will have someone check the food stores to see if there is food to spare.”

Uncle Edmure then turns to Utherydes, “Utherydes you will see to it won’t you?”

“Yes, my lord, I will need to find the Lady Arya first.” Utherydes says sounding a tad annoyed. He is probably dreading the prospect of trying to find her.

Her mouth is moving before she can think and suddenly it is her voice that fills the hall, “I am here, Uncle.”

It is when all of the men turn to look at her that she wonders if she made a mistake. All the sudden she is all too aware of the way her still-slightly-damp dress feels tight and how her hair is tangled from riding with it down instead of in a tight braid, of how blades of grass are still stick to her feet though she knows the men cannot see them. Uncle Edmure does not seem too upset with her, to Arya’s relief.

“Very well then. You go over the books Arya, we have enough food to spare for these good men do we not?”

“We should Uncle, provisions were sent from Seagard not long ago and a hunting party was sent out yesterday.”

“Good. Utherydes,’ Uncle Edmure turns to the old man, ‘Take these men and give them meat and potatoes. I need to speak to my niece.”

“Yes, Lord Edmure.” Utherydes says before motioning the men out of the hall.

“Doesn’t he need my help?” Arya asks once Utherydes has led the men out.

“I’m sure he goes over your notes after you write them. Utherydes is nothing if not efficient.’ Uncle Edmure assures her before motioning for her to come closer, ‘I see you went swimming.”

“Yes, Uncle. There seemed to be no need of me earlier.” Arya says, weary of a lecture.

“I cannot blame you, I would go for a swim if I could,’ he says with a smile before turning serious, ‘But for now Arya, you need to stay closer to the keep. Do not go swimming or ride far off, it is not safe.”

“It was safe a moon ago!” Arya protests.

“A moon ago it was safe enough, but things have changed. Their raids being carried out in villages. Originally they were further away, but they grow closer and closer, the last thing any of need is for these criminals to come across three young noble girls all alone.”

Arya is about to remind Edmure of Nymeria but remembers her previous conversation with Grandfather. What happens when the people trying to hurt her out number she and Nymeria? She has spent time trying to come up with an answer to this, and has yet to find one. She thought to tell him of Needle and that maybe by learning properly she could defend herself, but she know Grandfather would never allow it and Edmure would not disagree with that sentiment.

Instead she asks, “How long will we have to stay close to the keep?”

“Not too long, I should think. When the raids started Father sent men to speak to your Father about sending a party to stop the attacks. Give it a moon, I am sure that by then all will be well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History notes:  
> \- I'm kinda playing fast and loose with history by making Arya Chatelaine. A Chatelaine is French in origin and refers to both the name for a hook containing the keys to a keep and the position that basically translates into "lady who control a great house". For our purposes it basically means that Arya basically runs the keep (Utherydes is going after her to check her work, dont worry), but is not going to be making policy decisions. So instead of being the actual Lady of Riverrun she is referred to as Chatelaine of Riverrun or Acting Lady of Riverrun. 
> 
> \- The process of preserving fruit in honey is an actual thing. It was one of the common forms of preservation in medieval times along with drying and salting.


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Hoster talk about the raids, Edmure makes moves to defend the Golden Tooth, and Becca gives Arya something to think about.

i.

_Dear Jon,_

_How is the Wall? Have you made friends? I asked Maester Vyman to let me send you a letter, but he said that I shouldn’t. He said if I send you a letter the other men will get jealous. He’s wrong though. I’m sure you’ve made lots of friends. I made friends too! Elaenor Motton and Beethany Blackwood live at Riverrun too and they are pretty fun, though not as much as you. Elaenor has been teaching me how to dive in the Red Fork. I can almost reach the bottom! When I finally reach it I’ll grab you a pebble and send it to you, so you can remember me. I miss you, Big Brother, so does Nymeria._

_Yours,  
Arya _

_Oh! By the way, I’ve gotten better with Needle! Next time I see you I bet I could even beat you._

ii.

She does not get to send her letter just yet.

iii.

“Ser Desmond’s squire – Myles – was caught with one of the kitchen maids when he was supposed to be polishing swords, so Ser Desmond is making him polish all of the swords twice and restring the bow. Ami, she’s one of the gardeners, said that she saw one of the grooms and the laundress kissing under the willow…also one of the rose bushes are going to bloom soon. I’ll bring you some, Grandfather, something  different to look at and all. Utherydes had me oversee the weaving this morn and according to one of the girls, her name is Layla, she heard from her sister who hard from her good sister who was told by the man who brought the wool, the Mountain and his men raided Pink Pool. She said that they put everyone in the village to the sword like they did in Sherrer.”

The last part caught Grandfather’s attention, “What do you know of what happened in Sherrer?”

“Uncle Edmure said that was why I could not go riding or swimming. Don’t worry, I did not tell Elaenor. Since it is close to Maidenpool, I thought she might know the village.”

“Your uncle tells too much,’ Grandfather grumbles, ‘It is good that you do not tell Elaenor, she has no need to hear what occurred.”

“She knows about Sherrer, though, about how they put them to the sword. She asked me why Uncle said we could not go riding.”

“Do you know what that means, Arya? Putting a village to the sword?”

“Of course I do, Grandfather.” She says before taking a big bite of a piece of brown bread before he can ask her to expand. She has taken to eating her nooning meal with Grandfather and then eating with him again along with Uncle Edmure for dinner. At the noon meal, though, he asks her questions about what is happening outside of his chambers. He is not told as much as he would like and has told Arya to keep her ears open and then come tell him of what she has heard. She is all too happy to oblige. Spying is fun. It makes her feel important when she reports back to Grandfather. She has gone from little Granddaughter to important advisor. Without her how would he know what went on in the castle?

He's giving her a look that lets her know that he’s caught her in a lie and Arya finds that even after all of the moons she has been at Riverrun it is still odd to see her Mother’s expressions on her Grandfather’s face. Grandfather says that while Mother takes after him in coloring, her face was all Grandmother especially in the cheeks. Arya cannot fully disagree with that as she has never met Grandmother, but she can say that Mother and Grandfather look more alike than in coloring. Maybe it is because Grandfather’s hair has gone white that she can see past the coloring to the face. Grandfather does not have Mother’s high cheek bones and gentle features, but they wear their emotions the same way. It is more than a bit unnerving when Grandfather gives her a disapproving look because all she can see is  mother, their eyes narrowed the same and their lips took on that pinched look. The disbelieving look he gives her now is all Mother.

“What does it mean then?”

“…It means that…they…took all of the villagers stuff and threatened them.” She is proud that she manages to say that and not make it sound like a question. _That’s stupid_ she tells herself _why would you make it into a question? Of course you know what putting someone to the sword means. It means what you said._

Grandfather is nodding, giving one of those smiles that adults gave when they were not really smiling. “That is…somewhat right. When you put a village to the sword it does not always end in threats, sometimes people are hurt as well.”

“And the men raiding the villages are bad because they do that” Arya says. She can’t imagine a reason to hurt villagers unless they have broken the rules. Even then you were not really hurting someone, you were doing the King’s justice. Father did that and Father was a good man.

Grandfather looks like he very much wants this conversation to end, “Sometimes it has to be done in order to make a point.”

“What kind of a point?”

“That the Lord in control of the land the village is on cannot do whatever they want. Usually meant to punish the Lord.”

Arya frowns at that, “But that’s not fair! The smallfolk didn’t do anything wrong just because their Lord did. He should be punished, not them.”

“Sometimes hurting other people like that is the only way to get the Lords to understand. It is tragic for the village, but in the end it is for the greater good.”

At this point Arya has to come clean, “I do not understand.”

“I pray to the Gods you never have to.”

iv.

Being stuck in the keep is hard. As much as her duties keep her busy and she enjoys spending time with the girls and spying for Grandfather and practicing with Needle, Arya wants to go out of the keep. She wants to ride and swim and maybe try to convince Grandfather to let her hawk. Mother had said she might be able to have her own when she was older and now she was nine and Chatelain of Riverrun. How much older would she need to be for a hawk? And how much longer need she wait to go outside?

She takes to exploring the keep, which she’d not had much time to do before. Riverrun is neither as old or as large as Winterfell, but it is lovely. She could see Sansa’s romances playing out among the sandstone walls and colorful tapestries. The windows of the keep are large, allowing the sun to shine in through out the day. The keep has a few stained glass windows that depict some of the historical moments of House Tully, her favorite resides in the Lord’s solar which shows the creation of Riverrun by Axel Tully at the joining of the Red Fork and the Tumble Stone. She has not seen the one in the Lady’s chambers, but Bessa told her that it depicted maidens in a field of flowers near a river. The blue of the river and the green of the field colored the chamber when the sun hit just right. The windows of Arya’s chambers are large and face the Tumblr Stone. Nymeria appreciated this and spent solid portions of the day lounging in the sun.

Arya on the other hand spends her day working with Utherydes, and more recently, looking behind tapestries and statues when she has the time. In the stories someone is always sneaking into a castle by hidden hallways and secret rooms, so there had to be some in Riverrun. So far she has found none. That might because of where she is looking, she reasons. Why would there be a secret passage in her chambers? Who would need to sneak in there? Arya was given Mother’s old chamber, so they befit the daughter of a High Lord but that did not mean anyone would want to get into them. She has been trying to find a time to search Grandfather’s chamber. She thinks that there could be a passage way behind the tapestry depicting  Tully red trout swimming in either the Tumble Stone or the Red Fork. Arya is inclined to believe that it is the Red Fork because there are strands of red sewn into the water, but Grandfather said those strands could be fish rising just above the water. They debate this often.

Today, though, Arya is not peeking behind tapestries and behind furniture for tunnels. Today she is stuck yet again in the store rooms going through supplies. Utherydes, while sympathetic to the plight of the men losing their food, was not terribly pleased that word had gotten out about it and now people were coming to Riverrun begging for food. He was displeased that Uncle Edmure gave into almost all of them and was not terribly happy with Arya for not putting a stop to the madness that will eventually leave those who live in Riverrun starving. So as punishment (it is not a _punishment_ , Lady Arya, it is simply a necessity) she has to do inventory again in order to make sure that the inhabitants of Riverrun will be able to eat.

Personally Arya is not sure what the big deal is with giving smallfolk food. They need food, Riverrun has food and as their protectors it is the job of the noble house to look after their well-being and with that came ensuring that people would not die of starvation. See she does pay attention to Maester Vyman on occasion. Besides the woods are full of game they can send out hunting parties to replenish the meat that they have lost. Nymeria goes hunting some days and comes back with blood on her maw, so obviously some food is around. Utherydes is overreacting. That knowledge, though, does not get her out of this.

“Wyllem would you go to the buttery and let Lenore know how much ale we have when you are done counting. She knows the number that needs to be in the store room.”

“Yes, Lady Arya.”

“Wyllem,’ she says turning to the man, ‘we have been over this. Call me Arya.”

“Can’t do that, m’lady.”

“Why not? I said it was fine!”

“Your Grandfather would not be pleased” Wyllem says with a good natured smile. He is a handsome man, around Uncle Edmure’s age. Arya has seen him and Bethany’s chamber maid, Violet, kissing in the garden. That information is of no use to her now, but at least it was something to tell Grandfather as well as something to make Bethany giggle. Now she and Bethany try to get Wyllem and Violet in the same place to see if they act any different. Elaenor says you act different when you are around someone you love.

Arya can only grumble at his logic as he has the right of it. Grandfather is ever watchful of making sure people use Arya’s proper title. “So no one gets confused as to who you are,” he explains when she complains. Arya is old enough to understand that Grandfather is not concerned about the cooks or the maids or the gardeners or the laundress or guards or Maester Vymand or Utherydes Wayn and his pages or the squires not knowing her rank, but rather concerned that she does not forget. If he thinks that simply having everyone call her Lady Arya or my Lady or M’lady will make her into a lady he has another thing coming. Arya will run this castle and care for the inhabitants but she will never do what a lady does. She has more important things to do than dance and sing…like take inventory of the storehouse.

Arya watches as Wyllem leaves before walking further into the storerooms. She admits that she likes coming down here it, it almost feels like a treasure hunt. Utherydes tells her what is needed and she goes on a quest to get it. She has to face mazes of crates and jars and sometimes she has to battle with beastly rats or bugs or whatever else her mind can make up. She runs her hands along the crates as she walks by them, mentally keeping tally of how many she touches. She knows these crates well by now, the first fifteen hold salted meat, then it gives ways to jars full of honey and fruit and jams. She does not usually go past the large clay jars, but with no one else down here – she has sent everyone off to find something – she goes further down.

It’s dimmer in the back, the light of the torches having a harder time reaching back here. It’s cooler in the back, the wall where she runs her hand is slightly damp, and the smell is oddly stagnant. It reminds her of the crypts of Winterfell, but warmer. She can imagine her brothers luring her and Sansa and Bran down here under the promise of a game (It’ll be the best game of come-into-my-castle ever. I promise!). She can almost hear the sound of Sansa’s squeal and Bran crying as he clutched on to her fingers. When he got older, however, he would drag her down here to play hide-and-seek and monsters and maids and other games they made up.

Arya is so wrapped up in imaging her siblings down there that she almost falls when her hand runs out of wall. Instead of stone or wood or clay or glass Arya only feels cool air. She is so far back that she can barely see, but when she turns she sees one spot darker than the rest of the wall. The opening is not very large, Uncle Edmure would probably have to turn side ways in order to enter to it, but it’s a perfect fit for Arya. She walks closer wondering if it is not just a dip in the wall, maybe the castle is going to fall in on itself or something, but there is nothing just an opening in the stones. A secret passage way in the back of the store room.

Arya feels her heart beat a little faster and she smiles widely. Finally. She knew she was right about this, there just had to be a secret passageway in Riverrun, there just had to be. And here it was! With out even thinking, or going back to grab one of the torches on the walls, Arya goes through the opening. The inside is as narrow as the opening and Arya finds herself almost shoulder to shoulder with the wall. With how tight it is Arya wonders who they made this for.

When she is far enough in that she is almost in pitch darkness she comes to a set of stairs, still tight and narrow. As she goes up she leans against the cool stone of the wall, careful not to fall on the steps. The nice thing about such a narrow staircase is that the stairs are small and close together. The way the walls curve as she goes up, tells her she is probably in a tower. With how dark it is, and because this is a _secret_ passage, Arya is surprised when she comes across a window. Granted it is not a very large window, just tall and narrow enough for a Bowman to shoot through, but there is no room for a bowman, so she is unsure of the point. When she stands on tip-toe and looks out of it she sees the front bailey and the wall. She is high enough that she can see the ramparts, though not so high as to see if any men are on it.

After enjoying the slight breeze coming through the window, Arya continues up the stairs. As she keeps going she is starting to wonder where exactly this goes. Probably to the top of one of the towers, she tells herself. Maybe this is a long way to a roof top. She’s starting to wonder if maybe she should not just go back down when she starts to hear noise. It’s hard to hear, but as she gets higher up it is getting louder. Soon she can make out random words. _Ride…now…stop…dying…fire…ruined…Lannister_

Then she can make out voices and sentences and she looks around trying to find an opening. She runs her hands along the walls, trying to feel for holes and when her finger catches on a dip she looks closer to see a bit of light shining through an opening too large to be called an accident and too small to be called a window. When she looks through the opening she can see men gathered around a redwood desk. Grandfather’s solar, accept it is being used by Uncle Edmure.

“We have to do something. There has been no word from Casterly Rock about their intentions” someone is saying, she does not recognize the voice.

“I agree,” Uncle Edmure says, ‘I want to send men to guard the path at the Golden Tooth.”

“Send me, my lord. I have the men and am close to the path.” Another man says, she thinks this one is Marq’s father, but she cannot remember his name.

“That is why I have called you here, Clement. I want you and Karl to guard the Golden Tooth. If the old Lion tries to leave the Rock we shall put a stop to it.”

“Should we not wait to hear word from the Throne, Edmure?” the first man, Karl, asks.

“We have waited. Ser Raymun Darry wrote to me that the Hand has given his approval for the raiders to be hunted, but no action is being taken in terms of Casterly Rock. If we are to protect the path we are to do it ourselves. I need you and Clement at the path.”

Arya shuffles, trying to see better making a some of the pebbles on the steps clink and the talking stops for a moment. Arya leaps away from the not-window and leans against the wall before scrambling down the steps. She needs to get back before Utherydes starts looking for her, but at least she found her passage…and information that Grandfather will be interested in.

v.

“Becca,”

“Yes, m’lady?”

Arya groans and lets her head fall back, causing her handmaiden to groan, “I told you to call to me Arya!”

“And your Lord Grandfather told me to call you m’lady or Lady Arya.”

“So? Your _my_ handmaiden.”

“And your Grandfather pays _my_ wages. I’m not going to lose pennies just because you don’t like your title.”

Arya certainly did not put at that as Becca forced her head back up, so she could finish her braids.

“What if you only call me Arya if we’re alone? Septa Donyse is doing her morning devotions and I don’t see Maester Vyman or Utherydes around, so no one is going to tell.”

Becca was silent, seemingly considering Arya’s words. “I will make you a deal. I will call you Arya when we are all alone, but in return no whining or complaining or running away when you need to get ready.”

“I never complain!”

“Liar. When I combed you hair last night you would not stop moving.”

“It pinched.”

“I would not pinch if you did not move. Besides if we don’t comb your hair you will get lice and then we will have to shave off your hair. Probably the hair of everyone in the castle. I’m sure that Lady Elaenor and Lady Bethany will be overjoyed to lose all their pretty hair because you don’t like how the comb feels.”

Arya does not pout at that either nor did she glare. She most certainly does not. This is probably the best answer she will, get though. She could get some of her father’s men to call her by her name and some of the younger servants, but she never managed to get her mother handmaids to call her Arya nor did the girls who would help her and Sansa. Becca is the first handmaiden that was all Arya’s. Besides she likes Becca, even if she is using this situation to her advantage.

“Fine. How old are you, Becca?”

“Five and ten, my l – Arya.”

“Oh. Did you always live at Riverrun?”

“No,’ Becca says with a chuckle, ‘I was born in the Westerlands.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Not too much. I miss my auntie, though. I lived with her – my father is a merchant, so he travels often – at Lannisport. She was a minor Lady’s maid and she taught me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. When she found out through a friend that Lord Tully was looking for a lady’s maid for his little granddaughter she sent me up here. Better prospects and all that.” Becca says as she finishes tying the final ribbon in Arya’s hair and pulling the stool away from the vanity so Arya could get up.

“Do you like being a lady’s maid?” Arya asks as she revels in the feeling of cool stone against her feet, watching Becca going to the chests that contain her clothing.

Becca does not answer right away, instead she roots through the chests. Becca is pretty good at picking out clothing for the day. Arya would rather wear her breeches and tunics instead of gowns, but Becca typically chooses gowns that are simpler and looser. She and Arya also have an unspoken agreement about the gowns. Half of them (mainly the day to day ones) could have slightly ripped hems and get a few stains, but the ones she did not wear often need to be taken care of. If only to save Becca’s eye sight since she is the ones who has to fix the hems and the stains if she takes such good care of Arya’s clothing then the least Arya could do is try not too give her too much to fix.

Becca comes back over with a Tully red sleeveless kirtle a slightly raised hem, and a chemise. Becca help Arya out of her night shift and into the lighter day one and Arya starts to think she asked the wrong question. Maybe it’s a rude thing to ask. Maybe she offended Becca. She did not mean to, she is just curious.

“There are worst jobs to have. Besides you are better than the Lady my auntie serves, even if you are a little hellion who tears her hems too often.”

“You’ll call me ‘hellion’ but not Arya?”

“Well, now that I call you Arya I figure I can be rather candid.”

Arya only ‘hmphs’ in reply and resolves to stand silently. This resolve lasts all of the five seconds before she gets bored of standing there while Becca gives her soft lamb slippers to put on before helping her into her gown.

“Who does your auntie work for?”

“You wont know the name, she is a very minor noble. The wife of a landed Lannister knight.”

“Are you worried for her?”

“I mean she’s getting up there in years, but I shouldn’t think there is a reason for worry.”

“No. I mean…Uncle Edmure says troops are gathering in the Westerlands. The Lords are worried there will be war.”

“Where did you hear this?”

Arya does not that answer that, deciding to chew her lip instead. She likes Becca, but she isn’t sure that she wont tell Grandfather about her sneaking about. Grandfather may enjoy the information she gives him, but Arya does not think he would approve of her methods.

“I see. Sneaking around,’ Becca says knowingly, ‘Even if war does breaks out there is only so much that can be done.”

“You could send for your auntie.”

“I could. But where would she stay? What would she should? What would her mistress say? What about her husband and children?”

“They could all come.”

Becca laughs at that.

“And do what, Arya? Leave everything behind for positions where they may not be wanted? Their household may be vindictive and try to make life harder for House Tully for stealing their servants. They may take positions that other servants want and the others will resent them for it.  Some are bitter that I took the position of Lady’s Maid, ones that have less experience but have been in Riverrun longer. To start over, especially in a keep where very little changes, is too hard.”

“Oh. But wha-?”

“If war breaks out then auntie will stay where she is. It is better to be a servant in a keep, than traveling somewhere new, especially when the new servants are first to be thrown out.”

Becca finishes tying her gown and Arya spins around throwing her arms around Becca.

“I will not let them throw you out, Becca, even if you barter like a fishwife from Seaguard.”

After a moment or two Becca puts her arms around her.

“That is comforting to hear, Arya.”

vi.

Arya stands next to Elaenor and watches as Bethany rushes to her Father and elder brothers, Lucas and Hoster the All-Knowing has returned. Lords are visiting Uncle Edmure more often and Arya has a bad feeling about this. When she tells Grandfather about the visitors he looks worried too, which tells her all she needs to know. Grandfather rarely looks worried. He looks tired and stern and unyielding, but he is not the nervous type.

Still while Arya knows that Lord Tytos Blackwood’s arrival may not signal anything good, Bethany is happy to see her father. Arya will never admit it, but she is a bit jealous of Bethany. As she watches Lord Tytos swing his daughter into his arms she pictures Father, Father who is far away in King’s Landing. She has not heard from him other than a letter or two from when she arrived. When she mentioned it to Grandfather he had told her that she should not be surprised.

“Your Father is Hand to the King, he loves you but he has more important letters to write. You need not to bother him, Arya.”

She had not thought of a way to argue with that logic. She told Septa Donyse about it, but the woman had not been much more help than Grandfather had.

“I know you miss him, child, but you should be proud. Your Father is doing an important job and sacrifices have to be made. Do you remember what the Seven Pointed Star says about the roles of Fathers?”

“…He…makes sacrifices for his children?”

“That’s right. Your Father may not be king, but he still acts as a Father to the kingdom, so he is making his sacrifice. I am sure he would much rather be here with you, but he needs to care for all of the children now. Do you understand?”

Oh she understood. She understood that Father had stuck her in the Riverlands and then stopped speaking to her. She understood that he had other things to do and she should be proud of him. She understood that Sansa talked to Father ever day because she went with him, so he had enough time for her. She understood that she missed her Father and that no one here really understood, not even the girls. Bethany and Elaenor were away from home, but they were no further than just over a two weeks ride. Arya is close to a moon away from home by horse, maybe two weeks or so by ship. She is more settled in and she likes Riverrun, but she would give just about anything to go home.

“Hello Lady Arya, Lady Elaenor.” Lord Tytos says, after greeting Uncle Edmure with Bethany still in his arms.

“Hello, Lord Tytos.” Arya and Elaenor say with a curtsy…well Elaenor curtsies, Arya bends her knees and tries not to fall.

“Ladies.” Hoster greets and Elaenor and Arya go through the same greeting. This time, though, Arya does not bother to curtsey. Hoster Blackwood is neither lord nor heir nor knight. Arya is not going to risk falling on her face simply to make Hoster the All-Knowing feel important. Besides she is still annoyed about what he said about Nymeria being a dangerous beast. She is not going to bend the knee to such a stupid boy.

She does not curtsy to Lucas Blackwood either, but she does give him a smile. He’s older than her by close to ten years but he is not a complete bore. Last time he was at Riverrun she and Bethany talked him into play come-into-my-castle and monsters-and-maidens with them. He was not as smart as Hoster, but he was not a simpleton either. He was smart enough and better yet he was clever enough to tell entertaining jokes.

“Where is Mother?” Bethany asks as her father sets on her feet near Elaenor.

“She stayed at Raventree, sweet girl. But she sends her love and wants me to tell you how much she loves your letters. She has been reading them to little Robert too.”

When Lord Tytos turns back to Uncle Edmure his face is grim. Uncle Edmure claps him on the shoulder, looking only slightly less serious, and leads him and the men inside.

“I’m so happy to see them!” Bethany says excitedly and Arya gives her a slight smile in response.

She cannot bring herself to say that she was happy for Bethany any more than she can tell the girl that this visit probably is not be a good one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Lady's maids typically were not from the peasantry and had some experience with being a Lady's maid. Because Becca is only fifteen and not from the Riverlands her auntie may have had to do some...unsavory things to get her niece the position.  
> -Lady's maids were in charge of fixing hems and socks and hose. They also did hair, helped to pick out clothing, and helped their lady to dress. They also kept the rooms tidy.  
> \- A kirtle is a simple gown that could be worn by itself or under a gown. I am basing the one described in chapter off of a 15th century Italian kirtle. This would have been worn with an over-gown in public.


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoster and Edmure disagree, Edmure and Arya manage to spend some time together, and disturbing news comes from further South

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I know it's not Tuesday, but since Tuesday is Christmas and i'm going to be busy i thought i would post a chapter today. With my new class schedule chapter updates may start occurring on Sunday, but that is still up in the air. 
> 
> As always kudos and comments are always appreciated. I love hearing from you guys. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

i.

“I’ve sent men to guard the Tooth, Father, but it may not be enough. Troops are getting closer by the day, we need to take direct action.”

“No, Edmure, not without permission from the throne.”

“Permission? Father, Ned Stark may have sent men to look into the raids but that does not help us when it comes to the forces at Casterly Rock.”

“We cannot move against the Rock without the permission of the throne.”

“Father, we are not going to get permission from the throne! Cersie Lannister is queen, Jaime Lannister dons the white cloak, and from what I hear the court is crawling with Lannisters and lion loyalists. I need to give the order for Vance and Piper to advance.”

“Am I dead, Edmure?”

“No, Father but- ”

“Am I not the Lord of Riverrun?”

“You are Father. It’s just-”

“Am I still the Lord Paramount of the Trident?”

“Yes Fath-”

“Have you come to kill me this morn?”

“Of course not! How could you ask me that?”

“Then we wait. Our bannermen know to be prepared should things take a turn for the worst, most are making preparations should the tides turn that way. Until we know about the situation as your Father and your liege Lord I order you to stand still.”

ii.

“Utherydes is going to kill us both.” Arya says with a wide smile as she watches a hawk circle in the air far above.

“Aye. Probably dump our bodies in the river to let the fish eat us.” Uncle Edmure says with a snort.

He surprised her by coming to her this morn before breaking their fast and asked if she had wanted to get out of the keep today. She had agreed before he even told her what he wanted to go do. It had not mattered to her, it had been far too long since she had gotten out of the keep and went riding or swimming or anything. Riding is only so fun when it done in the bailey and there are only so many times you can play and pick flowers in the garden before it becomes tiring. Riverrun has grown on her, but if she had stayed behind its tall walls for much longer she was going to jump into one of the rivers from the ramparts.

Instead of jumping she and Uncle Edmure had gone hawking. She still does not have her own, but she is determined to ask Mother and Father for one on her tenth name day. She was ready for one. It could live with the other hawks in Riverrun and she would share with Elaenor and Bethany. If Mother and Father say no then maybe she could convince Uncle Edmure to get her a hawk. He would probably say yes if she begged long enough. Maybe she could Maester Vyman to put a good word in for her.

“Uncle, have you hear from Mother?” Arya asks, keeping her eyes on the bird.

“No. I’ve not heard from Cat nor Ned nor anyone. Everyone I need to hear from appears to have disappeared.” Uncle Edmure says, clearly annoyed.

The nice thing about Uncle Edmure was that he spoke to her more candidly than most adults. Utherydes and Maester Vyman would tell her everything about the castle, but little of what was going on beyond it. Grandfather likes to hear her news and would sometimes expand on what she heard, but very rarely. Uncle Edmure is the only one to give her any real information. This might be because on the rare occasion she can get him alone she lets him rant. He goes on tangents about this lord or that lord and the smallfolk and knights and she does not stop him. She wonders if at some point he forgets she’s even in the room.

“Oh. Do you think she is well?”

“Cat? I can’t see why not. Your mother is one of the most resourceful people I know and one of the fiercest.”

“Grandfather says that Grandmother Minisa was fierce too. He said that even the ghosts of Harrenhal would be frightened of her.”

Uncle Edmure laughs at that while the hawk, oddly named Mud, flies back with a small rabbit in his talons. Uncle Edmure takes the animal and then gives Mud a little bit of meat before sending Mud off again.

“Did he? I imagine she was.”

“Do you not remember her?”

“Not really…I was very young when she passed. I was about three or four I think.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Edmure.” Arya says for lack of anything better. She’s not really sure what to say to that. She’s never even thought about what it would be like knowing that Mother and Father were in the world.

“Don’t be, sweet niece, it was long ago. Besides Father always said if we missed her we could find her in the gardens. Did you know he had those gardens built for her? Filled them with all of her favorite flowers.”

“Really?” Arya asks, only half asking about the gardens. It seems a rather sentimental thing to say for Grandfather. Grandfather was not very emotional. He was not mean by any means, but he was serious. He was less serious than Father, but not quite as stern as Utherydes. If anything else, Arya thought maybe that Grandfather had loved Grandmother enough to soften for her, even when she was not there anymore.

“Oh yes. Anyone who knew her can tell you that she loved those gardens. If you even want to know her I’m sure you can find her in the gardens. You should also ask your Mother if she ever bothers to write back. She had more time with Mother than I did.”

“Do you think we will hear from Mother soon?” Arya asks.

“I don’t know. I should think so, but there is no real answer. She said that she was taking the little Lannister North, but the Eyrie is closer and Lysa is there. Though how helpful Lysa will be…”

“Do you think mother went to the Eyrie?”

“I do. She and Lysa were close before their marriages and Uncle Brynden is there. The Blackfish was a favorite of all of us. If I needed help I would go to him.”

“Who is the Blackfish?”

Edmure laughed at her question and repeated it. He was about to answer when Mud returns. This time Uncle Edmure transfers the hawk to her gloved hand and allows her to give the bird a scrap of meat before sending him off again.

“Brynden blackfish Tully,’ Uncle Edmure says once Mud is in the air, ‘is Father’s younger brother. He was supposed to wed some Redwyne girl, but went with Lysa to the Eyrie instead when she wed Jon Arryn. Father never forgave him and Uncle Brynden has not been welcomed back since he left.”

“Just because he went to the Eryie?”

“Because he did that instead of marrying the Redwyne girl. If there is one thing Father seems to love it arranging marriages and he was not pleased when Uncle Brynden did not go along with her plans.”

Arya giggles at the idea of Grandfather acting as a matchmaker. The idea of him shunning his own brother because he had other plans seems so harsh, but she can imagine it. Grandfather may love arranging marriages, but Arya thinks he loves nothing more than to lecture about family and duty and honor. He manages to work it into conversation almost once a day, sometimes he mentions it so often Arya could scream. Father never lectured her on the Stark words as often as Grandfather lectures her on the Tully words. Maybe Great Uncle Brynden is why he lectures her so much.

“Do you miss him?”

“I do. We all would go to him with our problems, he is very good at figuring out stick situations. I’ve gone to visit him and Lysa, but it has been a years. When things have settled down maybe we can take a trip to the Eyrie. You would like Uncle Brynden.”

“And Aunt Lysa?”

“Probably. Besides she has a boy about your age, I’m sure he would like to meet you. Not sure how much company he has up on that mountain.”

This time Mud comes back to Arya with a vole. Arya takes the dead rodent, trying not to make a face (she’s finds alive creatures rather fun, but dead ones are another matter), and passes if off to one of the men who rode out with them. This time when Uncle Edmure takes the hawk back he hands him off to Byrand and Arya knows that they are heading back to the keep. They have not spent as long as Arya would have wished, but at this point she will take what she can get.

As they turn to head back to Riverrun Arya gives her uncle a large grin. They may have to go back, but luckily there was still the return ride.

“Race you back!” she calls over her shoulder as she spurs on Trout.

iii.

“How is this fun?” Elaenor asks with a huff, sitting on the nearby stone bench next to Septa Donyse.

“Because it is like a treasure hunt! We have to find all of the flowers on the list, so its like a quest.” Arya says, her enthusiasm adding a chirpiness to her voice that makes Elaenor roll her eyes and the Septa chuckle.

Maester Vyman finally gave Arya a task she found to be enjoyable. That midday after taking the nooning meal with Grandfather, the Maester had found her. He gave her a list and an explanation of what he needed.

“A lot of the flowers in the gardens are medicinal or they are good for eating. I am in need of some of the medicinal plants and after speaking with Steward Wayne I found that we are need in some of the edible ones too. I want you to go find the plants on this list and then bring them to me.” He had said.

“Really?” Arya asked, surprised to be doing something other than overseeing.

“Yes…unless you want to send someone else to do it.”

“No! I can do it!” Arya said, scared to lose this chance for a duty that could be fun.

“Good. I knew I could count on you, Lady Arya.” Maester Vyman said with a smile.

Now Arya, Bethany, Elaenor, Septa Donyse, and Becca search through the gardens. Well Arya and Bethany search while Elaenor works on her embroidery on the bench and Septa Donyse and Becca oversee and confirm which plants are which. Arya knows some about plants, though most of the ones she knew were found up North. Trying to guess which plant is which is pretty fun, especially since she has made a game of it.

When she comes to a plant she does not know, mayweed, she goes to Septa Donyse or Becca and asks for clues, but they have to be yes-or-no. Does it look like a flower? Is it blue? Is it pink? Is it tall? Is it more than one color? Is it the one Bethany is standing in the middle of? And on and on. Arya finds this game fun even if Elaenor is not very amused.

“I believe it is time to return inside.” Septa Donyse says, looking up at the purpling sky.

“Just a bit longer.” Arya says from where she is gathering Remember-Me’s. She had yet to make good on the promise to bring Grandfather flowers, and since she was already picking flowers for Maester Vyman she decided to pick some for Grandfather too.

“I’m sorry, Lady Arya, but we need to get these plants to Maester Vyman and you will need to clean up before the evening meal, you’ve dirt everywhere.”

“They can start the evening meal without us.”

“I doubt your Grandfather will agree to that.”

“What about Lady Elaenor and Lady Bethany? I am sure they would like to return to the keep to clean up.”

With that Arya turns to where Bethany is standing near a rose bush and says, “You can go inside if you’d like. You don’t need to wait for me.”

Bethany looks conflicted, but Elaenor is starting to put her embroidery into the basket she had brought out to the gardens. Arya gives a smile to Bethany for encouragement and ignores Elaenor, the elder girl will do what she wants and needs to no encouragement or approval from Arya. Besides Arya make take her meals with Grandfather in his solar, in can sit up now at least, or in his bedchamber on bad days, but Elaenor and Bethany eat in the dining hall. Lately knights have been coming and going more often than not with Lords and heirs visiting as well. In turn Elaenor has made looking her best at every meal one of her most pressing concerns.

“You never know who is looking, Arya. Florian fell for Jonquil with just one look. One. What if my Florian does not even look at me or looks past me?”

Sometimes Elaenor is a bit too much like Sansa for Arya’s comfort, even if she calls the girl friend and finds great joy in giggling with her into the night, long after even the servants have gone to sleep.

Bethany on the other hand worries less about how she looks and more about who she is with. Bethany is shy and sweet, though after spending so much time with Elaenor her wit is sharpening. Arya likes to think that her growing willfulness comes from her. Bethany even argued with Septa Donyse about having to embroider a few days past. Sure it was because she would rather be reading some tome, but Arya still counts it as a victory. Elaenor and Arya maybe older, but sometimes Arya thinks Bethany might be the smartest out of the three of them. She is the quickest when it comes to history and has a passion for it that Arya does not really understand. The night before Arya had fallen asleep to Bethany telling her about some High Septon that Bethany had been reading about. In fairness to Arya, Bethany had been going on about the man since Arya had found her after the evening meal.

“We all need to go inside. You are expected to eat with your Grandfather and these plants need to get to the Maester. Do you plan to make the man wait forever? He trusted you to complete this task and you need to finish it.”

“Becca, could you-”

“No, Lady Arya, Becca is not going to take the baskets to the Maester. She will help you carry them, but you need to go with her.”

“Bu-”

“Or you can go to your chambers now and stay there all night. No dinner, no companions, just you and the Seven Pointed Star.” Septa Donyse says, leveling a gaze at Arya, her voice stern.

Arya chews her lips, trying to decide whether or not to argue and trying to keep the tears of frustration at bay. She is only asking for a _few more minutes_ , not forever. It is not fair. She has tried for Septa Donyse, the least the woman could do was try for her. When she peaks up from her feet to the Septa, she sees that her face is stern but necessarily unkind. She is not Septa Mordane, not really. Sometimes Arya worries that she will look at Septa Donyse and instead of seeing her will see Septa Mordane. Still this is unfair.

But she does not want to go to bed without supper and spend the evening in her chambers with nothing but the Seven Pointed Star to keep her company. She is not sure she truly believes in the Seven, Father and Jon worship the Old Gods and they are the best people she knows, but she’ll hate them by midnight if she has nothing but them this evening. Still she is not going to give the Septa the satisfaction of her agreement. Instead she spins around to the four baskets they took out with them and took two, leaving the other two to whomever, and started for the keep with out looking at any of them. She’ll go in, but she will not look at Septa Donyse. She also cannot bare to look at anyone else after losing this battle.

Instead she calls out to a nearby serving boy and asks where she can find Maester Vyman before heading towards Grandfather’s solar. She wonders if Septa Donyse is behind her, readying herself to tell Grandfather how Arya was rude and willful and awful, but she cannot bring herself to turn around. She does not want to turn around and see that she has turned into Septa Mordane and that she is going to tell Grandfather how he should have begged for Sansa instead of taking her. She does not want to turn around to see Bethany and Elaenor following, whispering together wanting to see the dramatics that would play out.

When they make it to Grandfather’s with it’s redwood doors she forces herself to turn around in order to make sure the other two baskets made it. To her relief, and surprise, only Becca stands behind her with the other two baskets. When Arya stares at her a moment, trying to figure out where everyone went, Becca lets out a laugh.

“The Septa went with the other girls, she knew you would come here. I think that Septa has dealt with enough girls that even _you_ cannot fully faze her.” Becca says with a smile.

Arya just rolls her eyes at her and opens the door. Maester Vyman, Edmure, Desmond Grell, and Uncle Edmure are standing around the desk that Grandfather is sitting at. Jugding by the faces of all of the men they did not particularly plan on having her enter right at that moment.

“You need to remember to knock, Arya.” Grandfather says, giving her that look that makes her think of Mother.

“Sorry,” Arya mumbles before turning towards the maester and extending the two baskets she holds, “I finished gathering the flowers you asked for, Maester Vyman.”

The Maester, who looks fairly put out, manages to give her a tight smile, “Thank you, Lady Arya, I am sure you worked hard. Give them to one of the pages, who you?”

Arya hands the baskets off to the page who Becca called for before turning back to Grandfather. He still looks pretty grumpy, so maybe this is the perfect time to give him the flowers she picked for him. When Father was to solemn or grumpy or tired Arya would pick flowers for him and he always brightened. He would take the flowers and take her in his arms and thank her, sometimes he would laugh at the dirt on her and her gown but that never stopped him from holding her close. She wonders if she could dry flowers like they do in the kitchens and send them to Father. For now, though, she can try to cheer Grandfather up.

“I picked these for you, Grandfather.” Arya says approaching the desk and taking the cluster Purple Bells, Remember Me’s, and Pearl Roses from her belt and holding them out to Grandfather.

He looks confused and stares for long enough that Arya shifts nervously. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe he did not want flowers like Father did. Maybe she chose flowers he hated. Even though they were in the garden did not necessarily mean that he liked them. She had chosen ones that she had thought were pretty, she had not thought about Grandfather not liking them. She’s about to tell him to forget it and rush off to her chambers when he lets out a soft sigh and beckons her behind the desk.

She goes reluctantly, not really wanting to get lectured in front of everyone, even if everyone is only four other people. When she reaches him she realizes that his face has softened and he takes the flowers from her hand.

“Thank you, Arya, that was very considerate of you.” He says. To her surprise he gives her a hug. Grandfather is not cold, but he is not one to give out hugs and kisses. His affection comes from words and smiles and sometimes a pat on the head.

“Your welcome, Grandfather.”

Grandfather lets go of her, but holders her at arms-length and gives a small frown, not necessarily angry simply thinking. “We’ll have to postpone dinner, so you can wash up.” He says rubbing at a bit of dirt on her cheeks.

She swats his hand away, “It’s alright Grandfather, you and Uncle can eat with out me. I’ll have supper after.”

“No need. We need to finish this conversation as it is,” Uncle Edmure says before Grandfather is able to respond, ‘Go wash up, Arya, and then return. By the time you do that we should be done.”

Arya looks from Uncle Edmure to Grandfather and back again, unsure of what to do. She prefers her plan to Uncle’s and she does not even know what Grandfather would have proposed but she knows that she would most likely like her plan better.

Grandfather takes a moment before nodding, “Listen to your Uncle, Arya. We’ll have you back when you are done.”

Arya opens her mouth to argue the point but Grandfather is already turning back to Maester Vyman and Uncle Edmure seems to have forgotten her too. She opens her mouth to speak, but before any words can come out Becca has their arms intertwined and is leading her from the room. Before they have even fully left the room, the men were already speaking again, something about writing Lysa in the Eyrie.

In the corridor Becca calls out to one of the page boys who flank the solar doors in case they are needed.

“You, boy, your Lady needs you to tell Cook that Lord Hoster, Lord Edmure, and Lady Arya will sup in Lord Hoster’s solar in half-an-hour,’ when the boy runs off Becca turns to her, ‘Come, m’lady, if you lag any longer then none of us shall eat until midnight.”

Arya can only groan.

iv.

The last day of the Arya’s seventh moon in Riverrun brings nothing but bad news. Even the weather warns that change is coming. Since Arya has been in Riverrun there has been nothing but sunny warm days and cool nights full of stars. When she wakes on this day, however, she hears the loud pounding of rain on the windows. Looking out of the window shows that there is not immediate signs of the rain stopping. It is not as if Arya has never dealt with rain, it snows more than it rains in Winterfell but rain comes all the same, but it has come on them so suddenly. Seven moons of nothing but sun, has made her less likely to expect days where the sun would hide. Living in the South has made her worry a bit less about winter. Her father’s voice comes to her then as she looks at the gray sky, “Winter is coming”. But not yet, she reminds herself, this is only rain.

The first piece of bad news is not terrible, but not exactly welcome. It reaches Arya as she breaks her fast that Grandfather is weakening. He has been more tired than usual, even if he has been sitting at his desk more, and the rain makes his bones ache. So Maester Vyman explains that Grandfather needs rest today and that while she could take her supper with him, she needs to eat in the feasting hall or her solar so Grandfather can rest.

The next piece of news is terrible and comes during the nooning meal. She is sitting with Elaenor and Bethany in her solar eating when Uncle Edmure comes to her. He looks so serious that she halfs wonders if Grandfather has breathed his last. She cannot imagine that, though, and so she pushes it from her mind. Uncle Edmure is usually easy to smile and has a playful disposition unless angered, so this abrupt change in his temperament tells her that something is terribly wrong.

“Arya I need to speak with you.”

“About what?” Arya asks, looking up from her trencher.

“A raven has come from a friend in King’s Landing,” Edmure says coming around to where she sat behind her desk and kneeling down in front of her, his hands taking hers.

“King’s Landing? Is something wrong with Father? Or Sansa?”

Edmure nods and looks a bit pained, “Ned…Ned has been arrested.”

“What?” Arya explodes, unable to believe it. Father breaking a law? Father breaking a rule? Father who always spoke of honor and tradition and doing one’s duty could never break that law. There was something wrong, something very wrong.

“They say he committed treason.”

Treason. Treason? Arya knew that king Robert had died. They had gotten word of it two days past and Arya had sent a raven to Father, in part because Grandfather said it was the right thing to do, in order to tell Father she was sorry about the King and how she knew he would help Joffrey be a great king. Grandfather had been pretty active in helping her to write some of the letter. But Father would have neither killed nor betrayed him. King Robert was Father’s best friend, there was no way he would turn his back on him.

“Father is not a traitor! He would never do that!” Arya says, half frantic in trying to convince Uncle Edmure, but her uncle is already nodding.

“I understand, Arya. We are going to write to King’s Landing demanding answers. When I go to swear fealty to Joffrey, I will petition for your Father’s release.”

“No! No. We have to go now. We have to tell them that they are wrong. And what about Sansa? She’s alone down there. We need to go get her too.” Arya says, her mind whirling with ways to convince them that Father was innocent.

Uncle Edmure is shaking his head, “No, Arya, no. You need to stay here. I will figure out going to King’s Landing, but you need to stay here.”

Tears are starting to well and Uncle Edmure takes her in his arms, “It will be alright. I am sure this is a misunderstanding. All will be well, sweet niece, you just need to be patient. Give me time to figure it out and your Father will be with us in no time. Now, though, is not the time to rush into anything.”

Arya wrenches out of his arms, they are suddenly all too constricting and his words of patients and waiting grate at her nerves. She wants to go to King’s Landing and see Father. She wants to find him and rush him and hug him and have him tell her everything was going to be alright. That they would be together and he was going to take her and Sansa back to Winterfell and they would all be together and all would be well. She runs out of the room, determined to get a horse and head to King’s Landing herself but instead of the stables her feet take her to Grandfather’s chambers.

She bursts in, not thinking about the warning that Maester Vyman gave her that morning. Grandfather appears to have been dozing in bed, but the sudden slamming of the door wakes him.

“Arya? What is wrong, child?” he asks, obviously bewildered.

“Father! They’ve arrested Father for something he did not do. Uncle said so!” she says, slamming the door and rushing to climb on the bed.

“They’ve arrested Eddard? For what?”

“Treason. They say he committed treason. Father would never commit treason! Never. He loved the king. He said he was like a brother since they grew up together. He would never try to any of the king’s children either. He wouldn’t. You have to believe me.”

“Of course I believe you. Tell me exactly what Edmure told you and then I will call upon Edmure and we will work to figure out what can be done.”

The third piece of bad news comes later that evening, when the sky has just turned to dark blue. Arya is dozing in Grandfather’s room before supper, having spent the day worrying, arguing, pleading, planning, and trying not to cry (she did not always succeed). A young page comes rushing in, though, to wake her up. A guest has come, which means she is needed. Arya nods numbly and follows the boy to the Great Hall, Becca rushes to get her cloak to her before Arya has to walk in the rain. She vaguely wonders who could have venture to the keep this late at night.

When they reach the Great Hall it is pretty obvious that Uncle Edmure did not call for her. The page must have had an idea of proper protocol and went with it instead of waiting for Uncle Edmure to ask. In the middle of the Great Hall, standing (swaying) in front of the great redwood chair is a young bleeding man. He is somewhat dazed and looks haggard, as though he rode for days without rest.

“So many men have been slain, my lord. When Lord Vance was slain I knew I needed to come to you. The Golden Tooth has been lost my Lord, Jaime Lannister is marching into the Riverlands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Hawking was a common activity among nobility. It is also one of the outdoor activities that women were allowed to do without disapproval. 
> 
> \- Mayweed is another name German chamomile. German chamomile looks like little daisies and are thought to have medicinal purposes. It is believed to help with several different ailments such as the reduction swelling because it promotes the production of prostaglandins, leukotrienes, and histamines. It may also help with anxiety, colic, and heartburn. German chamomile has been grown since the 16th century. 
> 
> -Purple Bells are the Common Spotted Orchid. These perennial flowers are native to Germany.
> 
> \- Remember-Me’s are Forget-me-nots (I know that is very creative). Forget-me-nots are common in Germany and even have a sad romantic story to go with them about a knight who drowns picking flowers for his lady love. 
> 
> \- Pear Roses are native German roses called Perle von Weissenstein. These roses are the oldest known garden roses as they date back to 1773.


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nymeria goes head to head with a shadow, Hoster and Edmure have different ways of motivating, and Arya and Hoster talk about dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy early new year everyone!

 i.

_Lysa,_

_I write this letter in haste as the situation has become dire. Jaime Lannister has defeated a host at the Golden Tooth and is now marching North to Riverrun and Seven only know where else. I wrote you when men guarded the pass and heard nothing, sister. I ask you again to send men. A few hundred men could make all of the difference. Do your duty, Lysa, and help protect Riverrun, the Eyrie, and the Riverlands._

_Yours,_

_Edmure_

ii.

Direwolves are by no means hivemind creatures. They cannot communicate telepathically nor can they feel each other’s emotions, but they have a sense, and intuition especially when it comes to one of their own. They can tell when something has gone wrong and something has gone wrong.

Nymeria has not found the transition to these strange green lands very easy. The air is spicier smelling and it is warmer. Nymeria wishes for the days when she curled up with her pack in the white lands they came from. She misses her pack, her brothers and sisters. Her pack who she had curled up with when one the boy fell and howled loudly to keep _it_ away. That strange shadow that lurked around and took creatures away. She and sister had howled for the boy in the night even after they had left. Now that dark shadow is lurking again.

Nymeria bares her teeth and growls at it. It’s not welcome here, not welcome so close to her girl. Nymeria is not usually allowed to sleep with her girl, she has a space by the fire, but tonight she is welcomed with open arms. She is regulated to the end of the soft… _thing_ that the odd ugly wolves slept on, her girl’s girls curled around her. It has been a long sun up and down. The ugly wolves have been agitated about something. About attacks and battle and injustice and lies. None of that means much to Nymeria, her grasp on what the yaps the ugly words make actually mean is limited. She knows that her girl refers to her as “Nymeria” and “Good Girl”. She knows that “No” means that whatever she is doing is not being appreciated, like when she tries to teach the little ugly wolves how to hunt for their food by pouncing on other wolves. No one appreciates her teaching, it is probably the one complaint she has about her girl.

What she does have a firm grasp on are the smell of salt from when her girl cries, the sounds of wings as a mass of black ravens take flight from the tallest part of the rock cave, and the yelling of the large ugly wolves that have grown louder and more numerous. She also has a firm grasp on the fact that something is wrong. The shadow is always in the rock cave, usually is hovers around the oldest ugly wolf, the one who is clearly the alpha of his pack simply waiting. Tonight, though, the shadow is not simply waiting, it has taken something. It looks too proud. Nymeria bares her teeth and growls again.

It knows she knows. It knows that she knows something is wrong and cannot figure out what. Her girl is safe as are the girl’s girls and all of the other members of the pack. So who is it? How did it take them? Where did it take them?

Nymeria growls once more before settling back down on the soft thing. She closes her eyes, sure that she has scared it enough to make it stay away. That night she dreams of running in the white woods with her brothers and sister. They run and hunt and play and hunt and then sister has disappeared. Her brothers are far away, but she can hear their howls. She looks for sister, tries to hear her call, but cannot find her. When the sun comes up and the dream ends she still has not found sister.

iii.

In the following days since the rider arrived in Riverrun knights and Lords start to appear at Riverrun. They set up rough camps in the grassy lands across the bridge and wait to march. One morning Maester Vyman even took her up on to the ramparts to look at the banners in order to name the houses who came to Riverrun and list the ones who would join later. Edmure planned to meet with the Lannister host before they reached Riverrun, so some of the houses that were further west would meet with the Tully host on the march toward the battle.

It is two days before the host is to march when Edmure called for one last impromptu feast.

“A feast?’ Grandfather asked clearly confused, ‘Edmure, you are going into battle, this is not the time for feasting.”

“Father, the men here are about to the ride and risk their lives. The least we can do is give them a good meal before they ride off. It does not have to be as grand as a harvest feast, but we should give these men one last joyful moment.”

“This is not the time to be wasting supplies, my Lord.” Utherydes Wayne said.

“If we all die then you will have no need to worry about rations, Utherydes. I have little to give these men, but if they ride under the Tully banner then I should give them payment.”

“A feast is worth a man’s life?” Grandfather asked dryly.

“No, it is what the feast represents,’ Edmure said, clearly getting frustrated, ‘By feeding them we show that we are willing to make sacrifices for them, as Utherydes has pointed out.”

Grandfather and Edmure stared at each other for a few moments before Edmure turns to where Arya sits by the solar window looking out at the Red Fork wishing to go swimming or riding or literally anything that got her out of the keep, especially since it has finally stopped raining. What happened to all of this being over before she knew it? If anything everything had gotten so much worse. Father was  imprisoned and Arya has not been allowed to go to him (she had been thwarted at stealing a horse four times now), Jaime Lannister was leading a host towards Riverrun, Grandfather is still weak no matter what he tells the arriving bannermen, and on top of that Elaenor is learning a new song on her high harp so Arya has been hearing the first half of the Lily Maid for the past week.

Honestly she had only been half listening, so when Edmure turned to address her she was a bit startled, “Arya will see to the preparations.”

“What?”

“The feast. You will see to it, just tell Cook we need as much food as possible tomorrow night.”

“You tell him.”

“What?” Edmure asked as Grandfather sharply said “ _Arya_ ”.

“Cook will throw a fit. The meal plans have been set for this week and we have been working on gathering enough food for you take.”

“There has been a change of plans, just tell Cook. It is not that hard, Arya.” Edmure says with a shrug.

“How would you know? You’re not the one who has to do it.” Arya snapped. In her best moments her temper lurks close to the surface and her patience is thin. This had been heightened by new stressors and she was in no mood to deal with anyone unless they were doing something to help.

Despite all of her instance that this was a terrible idea and that Cook would quit she now sits what has to be one of the most tense feasts of all times. Granted she has been to a limited amount of feasts, but none had seemed tense. Well they were not tense until Mother caught Arya running around with Bran or sitting with Jon at one of the lower tables, then things were tense. Now it was not mischief that was the problem, it was…well, everything.

Arya for her part has been going between solemn and angry after the news of Father’s arrest. Before she loved to play with the girls and spend time laughing, now their laughing grates on her nerves. What is there to laugh about? This has not been helped by the arrival of Tytos Blackwood and his host from Raventree Hall. The men rode hard to make it before the march and their swift arrival was somewhat of a surprise. Arya groused about the abrupt arrival changing her usually schedule, but she that did not really bother her. What bothered her was watching Bethany rush to her father and seeing him scoop her up in his arms. She had thrown her arms around his neck and Tytos had kissed her head and Arya saw red. It was not fair. Arya cannot get to her Father, cannot even write him a letter, but Bethany can lean over and talk to her father, can laugh with her father, can hug her father almost any time she wants. At this very feat Bethany sits next to her father. Arya could just scream when Lord Tytos pats Bethany’s head and puts more roasted chicken on her plate.

She does not scream, though, she keeps her mouth shut and stabs at her lamb. Mother should be incredibly proud of the amount of discipline Arya is showing. She could throw a fit (like she did yesterday) or flee the hall and try to get a horse (like she did three days ago) or try to convince a knight or free rider to take her to King’s Landing (like she has done every time someone joins the host). She does not do any of that, she simply continues to stab at her food.

“I think it is dead, Arya.” Grandfather says.

With more and more people showing up Grandfather has tried to hide his illness, but has not been going well. He tires easily and lately he is starting to become confused, just the other day he asked her what all the knights were doing at Riverrun. Still he insisted on coming to the feast, though it is doubtful if it can be called such, in order to see the men before they marched. He is still their liege Lord, Grandfather explained, they needed to know he may not be marching with them but he supports them and his attendance shows his approval of Edmure’s actions.

“Sorry, Grandfather.” Arya mutters, putting her knife down.

“I know that times are hard-”

“But it will all be over soon, I must be patient. Uncle Edmure has said, has said it almost everyday in fact.”

Grandfather gives a sigh and nods slowly, “I understand what you are going through. Do you think I want to stay behind while these men ride off to war? Do you think I do not wish to defend Riverrun? That I do not want to ride to King’s Landing to demand answers ? I would give anything to ride, but that is not possible.”

“It’s not fair.”

“It’s not,’ Grandfather agrees, surprising Arya, ‘but we must work with what we have. Just because we will not ride towards glory there are still duties to be done here. We must be prepared if worst comes to worst.”

Arya is about to ask Grandfather to elaborate, but then Edmure stands up. He calls for attention a few times and waits while the hall quiets.

“My lords, my good sers, any of those who ride to protect the Riverlands. House Tully has held Riverrun since the Age of Heroes when Axel Tully built in at the meeting place of the Tumblestone and the Red Fork. The Tully’s have continued to hold the keep for thousands of years”

“And may it be a thousand years more!” someone from one of the lower tables calls out. A round of  “Here here” follows.

Edmure smiles widely and waits for relative silence before continuing, “During the Conquest Edmyn Tully rebelled against Harren the Black and led the Riverlands in following Aegon the Conqueror. House Tully was called to defend the Riverlands again by King Aenys I and we have served again and again and again. But our loyalty does not mean we will not defend ourselves.”

The cheering starts again.

“When the Dance of the Dragons occurred we were dubbed the Quarrelsome River Lords. We fought amongst ourselves, but now the name has changed. We are a quarrelsome lot, aye we are, but it is for outsiders not us. It is for those who believe to be easy prey. It is for those who think we will back down. Aye we quarrel. We quarrel with any who believe they can burn our crops, slaughter our live stocks, and put our smallfolk to the sword! Let Jaime Lannister come and see just how quarrelsome  I can be!” With that Edmure thrust his goblet into the air before taking a gulp.

The men in the hall follow suit and give another cheer. Edmure is still standing, clearly pleased with himself and turns towards where she and Grandfather sit. Arya finds it in herself, despite her foul mood, to give him a tight smile. She turns to Grandfather and sees that he has a similar smile to hers, but his looks a bit more like a grimace.

When Edmure sits back down her turns to Grandfather, but before the words are out of his mouth Grandfather is standing up. He seems a bit wobbly, but when Arya stands up to help steady him he motions for her to sit down. With a sigh she does so and goes back to stabbing at her food. Bethany is now leaning against her father, pointing to something at the lower tables.

“My Lords, my brave knights. I have led some of you into battle twice before; once against the Band of Nine and then again against the Mad King Aerys. This time I do not ride with you, but I send my son to lead you. Edmure has proven to be a capable fighter and will make a strong, leader I am sure. I must, however, remind us all of the importance of the duties you are undertaking. When you ride off tomorrow know that those of us here and in other keeps and towns we are all praying for your victory. Some of you may even die, but know that songs will be sung of you for ages to come. Know that all of us who live in the Riverlands are grateful for your courage and your sacrifice. There is nothing more I can ask of any of you and you have my thanks,’ Grandfather lifts his goblet high, ‘To victory! To the Riverlands!”

The other took up the cheer and Grandfather sits down. His speech had managed to do what Edmure’s could not; make the men be silent. No one had interrupted Grandfather, no one had even coughed.

“I’m not sure whose they liked better.” Arya says to Grandfather when he is settled again.

“They preferred, Edmure’s I’m sure.”

“Then why did you give a speech?”

“Because some of the men riding tomorrow are not even men in truth. Some are boys who are riding off for the first time in search of glory. No one wants to think about what war is truly like, about how they might perish on the field before they even swing their sword.”

“But wont the seasoned men tell them?” Arya asks, slightly confused. All of the stories of war she has ever known were about glory and triumph, not about hardship that could not be overcome.

“Mayhap they will, but some of them forget what true battle is like. Some were only squires during the Rebellion or never saw some of the bloodiest battles. Some simply forget because the memories are hard,’ Grandfather turns to her and cups her cheek, ‘All you have ever know of war is songs. War is not a love song or a jig, sweet girl, if it must be a song it a funeral hymn.”

iv.

Arya ignore how Bethany clings on to Tytos Blackwood and cries, instead she turns her attention to Uncle Edmure. He has been busy most of the morning, but now that they are standing in the bailey preparing to leave has pulled her aside.

He looks rather handsome, Arya admits, like a knight Sansa would swoon over. Arya has seen armor before, she remembers the armor from the Royal host at Winterfell, but she has never seen a breast plate that looks as if it is made of scales. Over the breast plate Uncle Edmure wears a bronze gorget to match his mail, it is a pretty sight but in the sun it is almost blinding if he moves the wrong way. When he kneels down in front of her spots of color block her vision for a moment because she did not think to look away.

“I will back soon, Arya. I need to watch the Keep for me. Can you do that, Arya?”

Arya rolls her eyes, obviously she can do that, “Yes, Uncle Edmure.”

“Desmond Grell is acting as castellan until I return, so he will help you…and Father, of course, but I also need you to look out for him.”

“I know, Uncle Edmure. You’ve said all of this already.”

Uncle Edmure gives a chuckle and cups her cheek, “When Father rode off he would tell your mother to watch for him. She would go up to the ramparts every day and watch for him.”

“Really?”

“Aye, she would. Will you watch for me, Sweet Niece? It would be heartening to know that you were here waiting for me.”

“We will all be waiting for you, Uncle.”

“Still…watch for me. Consider it a stupid favor to your stupid old Uncle.”

Arya looks at him for another moment before smiling and throwing her arms around him, shuddering from the coolness of the metal, “I’ll watch for you, Uncle Edmure, I promise…but promise to come back?”

Edmure squeezes her tighter, “Of course, I do. I’ll be back so quickly you’ll wonder why we went through all of the trouble of calling banner. I will bring you back lion pelts and then, when I return with Jaime Lannister, we will force them to release Ned. Trust me. Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you, Uncle…here. For luck or something.” Arya says untying the ribbon holding her braid in place and handing it to Uncle Edmure who grins.

“How lucky am I to have your favor? I am sure that this will lead us to victory.”

Uncle Edmure gets back up and leads Arya towards his horse where Bethany is finishing her teary goodbye. Arya consoles herself with the fact that she only has to deal with Bethany since Elaenor’s father is still in Maidenpool. Part of her knows that is not necessarily fair to Elaenor, but a large part of her, the part that wishes so badly for her Father, does not really care.

Edmure gives her a final kiss on the head, “Remember to wait for me. A few minuets everyday on the ramparts, watch for me.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Then Uncle is on his courser and Bethany is clinging to her. Arya puts her arms around her, briefly wondering if it is out of habit or in want of her own comfort. Together they watch Edmure lead the men out of the keep to where the lesser knights wait to join them.

When they can no longer see them Arya goes to find Grandfather in his solar. He is sitting on the balcony watching the men march off. With the solemn look on his face she is not sure if this is the time to bother him.

“I can hear you, you know? My legs have trouble working, but my ears do not.” He calls out to her, leaving her no choice.

“What are you watching?”

“Men marching off to battle. It feels as if it has been a thousand years since I was one of them.”

“Were you scared the first time?”

“Yes, though I would not admit it then,’ Grandfather says with a small chuckle, ‘I was twenty when the War of the Ninepenny Kings started. I thought only of glory and honor. When I saw my first battlefield that all changed and I learned that I should be afraid.”

“But I thought knights were never afraid.”

“The stupid ones maybe. Fear, if handled correctly, can make us more cautious and think. If there it is any time where a man should truly be afraid it is when they march to battle.”

v.

Riverrun is oddly quiet after the men leave. While the halls were full Arya had been a mixed of pleased and annoyed. Riverrun does not get as many visitors as Winterfell did. Father had people coming to see him all of the time from the highest of Lords to smallfolk who needed his help. Her siblings also made a large presence. Something was always happening, Bran always climbing and Sansa always singing and Robb always laughing. Theon Greyjoy was always there with his slick words and jokes. There were more wolves than just one. Nymeria and her siblings hunted and played together, slept in pile and played in a pile and nearly ate in a pile.

With all of the men at Riverrun, it had felt a bit like it had at Winterfell. Of course there was a tension there that was not at Winterfell but it did not take away from the enjoyment she had of being around so many people again. Arya would admit that having to figure out how to accommodate so many people was taxing. Who should be given rooms? Who should sleep in the Great Hall? How much food should the men receive? Which kind?  Should they be entertained? It was question after question after question.

Now there is less to do. All she can do is go about her normal duties and wait. Desmond Grell does a good job and does not need her assistance. When she asked if he did he gave a laugh and thanked her for offering. So instead she tries to help Grandfather when all of her duties are done and the girls have no need of her. She spends most of her evenings reading to him.

“And the Good Queen Alysanne flew to the Wall-wait-which dragon did Queen Alysanne ride, again?” Arya asks, tracing her finger on the illustration of a dragon on the top of the page she is reading.

“Queen Alysanne rode Silverwing. I am surprised that you did not know that.”

“I did know it, I just forgot it for a minute. I know that Visenya rode Vhagar and Rhaenys rode Meraxes.  Rhaenyra rode Syrax and Helaene rode…”

“Queen Helaene rode Dreamfyre.”

“Have you ever seen a dragon, Grandfather?”

Grandfather let out a laugh at that, “I am not as old as you think me, child, the last dragon died a hundred years before I was born.”

“Oh.”

“But I have seen their skulls.”

“For true?” Arya asks, sitting up straighter.

“Aye. I went with my Father to the coronation of King Jaehaerys II. In the throne room there were dragon skulls, bigger than you could ever imagine. Their smallest teeth were bigger than you.”

“Wow,’ Arya breathes imaging the large skulls with teeth larger than her, ‘I would like to see a dragon...”

“Would you?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“A live one? I shouldn’t think so. Dragons were great creatures for the Targaryens, but for others they led to great pain.”

Arya nods and chews on her lip as she flips the page. She would like to see a dragon, no matter what Grandfather said. She would like to ride one even more. She would ride to the battle for Riverrun and end it and then she would ride to Kings Landing and save Father and Sansa. A dragon did not seem like such a bad thing to have at all.  

vi.

Arya does as Edmure asks and every day she waits for him on the ramparts.  She usually does it around sunset, since that was in all of the stories. Sansa said that knights always came back to their ladies at sunset and while she doubts her sisters when it comes to sums she would never doubt her when it comes to romance or stories. Besides Elaenor seems to back Sansa up on this sentiment which means that it has to be true.

Every day that passes Arya gets more impatient. The first week Arya had waited, had paced and watched. When she asked Grandfather what was taking so long he had laughed at her. Battles apparently took longer than Arya had thought. No one tells you in the stories about the waiting. How before the battle even began the troops had to reach each other and that could take weeks or moons. No one tell you that once everyone is gone there is really nothing to do. There was no enemy at there door, so there was nothing really to do. Arya did have to adjust for the change in the population, but that had not taken long. Even airing out the keep did not take long and it was not like she was permitted to help with any of it.

She had convinced Lanna, one of the young household maids, to let her help beat a large Myrish rug which had resulted in her covered in dust. It was worth it, though, since it gave her something new to do. Septa Donyse had not been pleased, however, and told Bessa who was also displeased who told Grandfather. He was not happy either. She also tried to help with the rushes.

In Riverrun they used two kinds of rushes depending on where you were. The public spaces had strewn rushes, to be tramples on and spread with out much care. In the main chambers a woven mat was used. Loose rushes, herbs and flowers, were spread in the area where there were no mats. Arya had tried to sweep and spread the loose rushes, but Bessa had been unimpressed with her work. Arya had not managed to sweep up all of the old rushes up and ended up spreading the new ones with the old and not the right amount. After that Arya was exiled to the gardens or the ramparts or Grandfather’ solar, anywhere she would not be considered a nuisance.

Since then she has urged Bethany and Elaenor to keep the watch with her. Bethany is easy enough to convince, but Elaenor takes more work. Eventually Arya wins her over with the promise of listening to her practice her high harp and listen to her stories. Arya knows it is a bit too early in to ask how many different versions of Florian and Jonquil Elaenor can tell without making the other girl angry.

While Elaenor tells her story or plays her songs, Arya and Bethany usually play games. At first they played a lot of i-spy, but after day three they found there were no new things to spy. They brought the House Fortune board once, but found when one of the die fell through one of archer slits that it was not the best idea. So instead they play chase or tag or a very narrow version of come into my castle. Sometimes they are able to get the younger guards men involved in their games, typically using them as obstacles.

This evening, though, Arya is alone. It has rained all day and even though she pointed out the uses of cloaks the girls would not budge. So Arya dug through her trunks to find one of her heavy cloaks from Winterfell and went to wait by herself…well, not truly by herself as Nymeria chose to go with her this time.

As of late the direwolf seemed restless, and was clearly agitated by something. She paced often and growled at the window. At least she had stopped howling. She had howled near nonstop the day before and after the news of father’s arrest had come. The day before Arya had tried everything to get the wolf to stop before giving up, the day that the news arrived Arya could not bring herself to bother with Nymeria’s howling. She had wanted to howl to. Had wanted to scream and scream about the injustice of it all. Now Nymeria does not howl, she follows Arya silently outside to keep watch.

Nymeria has gotten so large now that when she climbs on to the ramparts the guardsmen stationed there have to take a step back in order for her not to bump into them. When she curls up her fur shows out the archer slits. Arya knows that Nymeria may be getting too big to go up with her, but it is good to have her near. It feels good to wear the dark blue cloak of Winterfell, the one mother had embroidered silver wolves on to the hem. It is a comfort to have Nymeria near, to have these pieces of the North near. She may have grown to like Riverrun and the Riverlands, but she misses the North with every inch of her being. She still dreams of it, still prays to return to it. After Edmure brings Father to Riverrun, she will beg him to take her with him North, to home. She wants to see hug Robb and play with baby Rickon and tell Bran the new stories she has learned. She wants to ride hard to the Wall and see Jon, wants to do that almost more than anything else in the world.

Arya is busy thinking about all that she would do when she returns to Winterfell, when Nymeria stands up abruptly. She starts pacing and growling softly. The guardsman near them look at her wearily, even after all these moons they do not trust her not to attack them.

“What is it, Nymeria? Is it Uncle?” Arya asks, patting the she-wolf in an attempt at comfort.

Nymeria wants to part in that though, her growls getting louder. The guardsman starts pulling his bow taught until Arya sends him a glare. She’ll not have this stupid man kill her wolf because he has the nerves of a squirrel.

Arya is about to snap at the man when she sees what has Nymeria agitated. There are riders heading towards the gate, going at top speed. This is no victory march. The horses are being push too fast and formation has been lost. The banners that men had carried into battle are no longer there. As the riders get closer she can hear them yelling.

“The Lannisters! The Lannisters are coming! The Lions are coming!”


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn talks with Walder Frey, Hoster prepares the girls for a worse case scenario, news of Ned's death reaches Riverrun, and Robb & co reaches Riverrun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Not going to lie this chapter got wildly out of hand, but it had to be done. That being said there are two things to know:  
> 1\. Most of these chapters cover the span of a moon, this chapter covers just over that i think.  
> 2\. We get a glimpse of Cat's negotiations at the Twins and for the most part it is the same as the books. The only difference is that Cat agrees to take two daughters of House Frey to be wards at Riverrun in addition to the original agreement. 
> 
> As always kudos and comments are appreciated!  
> Thank you for reading!

i.

“ _Heh_. Your Father does not attend my wedding and then he does not send for one of my granddaughters to join your girl at Riverrun. Are the girls of House Frey not good enough for Hoster Tully’s granddaughter?”

“Of course they are good enough, my lord, I am sure Father had his reasons.”

“Aye. A Blackwood for the blood and a Mooton for the port, _heh,_ but it is my bridge you need now.”

“Father chose who he thought would be best with Arya. He meant no offense to you or yours.”

“They never do.”

ii.

“You should not be up here, m’lady.”

“I promised Uncle Edmure I would wait for him. Besides it’s not like they are doing anything, they are just sitting there.” Arya says looking over the battlement to where the Lannister host had set up camp. After near three days of failed attempts to get into the keep, they apparently had decided to wait it out. What a lazy bunch.

When Tytos Blackwood had burst back into the keep with the survivors of the battle, Arya had assumed that they were going to go back out and fight. Surely they had come back to rally the forces that remained at Riverrun and continue the battle. That was what they did in all of the songs.  A clever knight would lead his foe on a merry chase back to a keep or woods or inn and then when the villains arrived the rest of the knight’s host would pop up and defeat the villains. Nowhere in the stories or songs did they mention sieges, or if they did the siege never lasted long.

It made sense that sieges did not happen in songs, sieges had to be on the most boring things in the world. The archers no longer even shot at the men beyond the gates. The men beyond did not shoot arrows in return nor did they attempt to cross the moat. When Lord Tytos had gotten all of his men inside the sluice gates had been opened and the drawbridge had been drawn up. There was no way to get in or out of Riverrun without a boat. At this point no battering ram would help either, so unless catapults were about to brought there was nothing the Lannister host could do, but wait. According to Grandfather they could be waiting for some time. Even after the feasting and the food given to the small folk Riverrun had enough supplies to last them all a year and a half or two years if they could stretch out supplies. Arya did not know if she could handle being trapped in the keep for two years. If it lasted that long she may throw herself off the ramparts simply for something to do.

“Your Grandfather will not be pleased, nor will Lord Blackwood.”

Arya turns to look at the archer now. He is rather young, with brows light enough to tell her that the trout crested helm covers a head of bright red hair. At her gaze he tries to stand firm, but his shifting feet tell her that he is uncomfortable reprimanding her. That is nothing new. Arya holds an odd position in Riverrun. She is a girl of nine and a half, but she is the granddaughter of Lord Tully, the daughter of the Warden of the North, and until Uncle Edmure wed, the Lady of Riverrun. By rights this archer had no right to lecture her, with his youth he had no real experience to justify his actions. Besides just throwing Lord Tytos into the reprimand does not endear the youth to her. What should she care about stupid Lord Tytos? Just because he is _hiding_ in Riverrun does not mean that he is in charge of anything. Grandfather was still here, Desmond Grell was still castellan, Arya was still Lady of the keep, and Uncle Edmure would return, so Lord Tytos has no real role here…other than taking up space and being one more mouth to feed. A mouth with far too many opinions.

Arya give the knight her best imitation of her Grandfather’s _look_ before turning back to look at the camped men. She does not remember much of the heraldry of the Westerlands, but she knows some. Before Father was arrested and Uncle Edmure rode off to battle and Riverrun was put under siege, Maester Vyman had started working with her on the houses of the Westerlands. It had been slow work, slower than the houses of the Riverlands, there were far too many Westerlanders though Maester Vyman had informed her that there were more noble families in the North than the Westerlands.

She knows the Lannister lion well enough. She remembers it flying with the black stag when the royal court came to Winterfell. The lions are everywhere down below, it is enough red to look as if the ground is splattered in blood. Arya wonders if this is not what a battlefield looks like with all of that red.

She recognizes the black hooded man of Banefort. She does not remember much of their history or their words, but their sigil stand out amongst all of the bright colors of the other banners and tents. She can also see the banners of Greenfield, somehow they stand out in their simplicity. Unlike the other banners which have some type of image on them the Greenfield family has nothing decorating their banners. It is nothing but a white double-tressure on a bright green field. Arya has decided that the Greenfield house must not be terribly creative people if that is the best they can do. When she told Grandfather that he pointed out that perhaps they were more creative than she believed them to be. After all they noticeable enough that she told him and she rarely told him about her lessons when she usually told the latest gossip. Clever they maybe, but Arya still thought that someone born into House Greenfield would be terribly dull.

She must admit that while she does not believe that she could like anyone from the Westerlands, she does like the banner of House Prester. The red bull on an ermine field is nice enough. It’s busier than the other ones, where usually there is only one main image instead of two. She wonders how they get on with House Greenfield. Are they as different as their banners? Are they more alike than they are with House Banefort? She guesses that Houses Banefort and Prester are more alike. She sees more men dressed in white and black than in green when Nymeria pops her head over the side of the battlements to gain a better look. Some men, more little colored dots really, come forward to take a look. Some of the dots are a sandy brown, but she does not know them.

There a few banners out in the camp that she does not know at all. The purple unicorn on the silver field is amusing enough, but enough for her to remember who they are. The only other banner on the field she finds interesting is the one with seashells. Arya has never seen the southern sea. The beaches where White Harbor sit are more rocky than sandy and the seashells there are very small. She has seen drawings of shells and now embroidery of it, but never ones that she could hold and feel. Maybe when all of this is over Arya will ask Uncle Edmure to take her to a proper beach with light sand and dozens upon dozens of seashells. She and Bethany and Elaenor will play in the sea and swim and swim until they no longer can. And Father, once he is back, can come along too and Sansa! When they are done they can take a ship to White Harbor home and bring some seashells back for Robb and Bran and Rickon and maybe she’ll send some to Jon, she will definitely send some for Grandfather back with Edmure. It will be marvelous.

The thought of the trip improves her mood. She leans on the wall with one arm, stands on her tip toes, and waves enthusiastically to the men bellow.

“Hello! Hello! Are you having a nice nap? Would you like to borrow my House Fortune board for entertainment, my dear lazy sers? I am sure we could find you entertainment!” Arya shouts before the jumpy guardsman rips her away from the wall.

“Are you mad, girl?! Are you? This is no game. What is they shot an arrow up at you? What then? Your Grandfather would have my head!”

The guardsman’s face has turned redder than his brows and he is still go on about girlhood stupidity and little ladies who are going to get them all killed. When Lord Tytos makes an appearance on the ramparts.

“What is going on here, boy?” he asks and the guard releases her arms.

“She,’ he says fiercely, pointing at her, ‘is antagonizing the men.”

Arya rolls her eyes at the man and turns to Lord Tytos who is looking at her with raised brow, “Was that you I heard, m’lady?”

“I don’t think they even heard me.” Arya says sullenly. She had so hoped for a reaction from them. Maybe an arrow or something.

“Either way. It is not appropriate for your to be yelling at armed men or for you to even be up here. You should be in thee keep, I believe Bethany and Lady Elaenor are in the library.” He says nudging her shoulder the way he wishes her to go.

She shrugs him off.

“I promised Uncle Edmure that I would wait for him everyday up here. Promises are sacred.”

Lord Tytos lets out a sigh and kneels down in front of her. Looking at his face she knows he is going to treat her the same as Bethany. Unfortunately for him she is not Bethany. She is nearly a woman grown and more importantly she is a daughter of the North. Northern girls are made for hard times, they are made of ice and wind and Stark girls are wolves while the Mormonts are bears. Besides she does not need this man to act like her father, she has one. She has the best father Westeros has ever seen.

“Your Uncle Edmure…he might be away for a while yet. He would not want you to be up here when it is so dangerous.”

“I made a promise to him. My words are not wind, I will wait for my uncle.”

“I cannot, in good conscious, allow this to continue.”

“No one is asking you to.” Arya says before turning away from the man and walking away, Nymeria close on her heels.

The sun has almost set and she other things to do than argue with Tytos Blackwood over things he cannot change.

iii.

Arya paces from one edge of the doorframe and back again in front of Grandfather’s rooms. She was summoned just after the supper and when she arrived she was told to wait. Becca and Nymeria watch her pace and appear to be keeping count of how many steps she has taken. Septa Donyse had waited with them for the first five minutes or so before she took her leave to pray. Arya suspects that the old woman is not as pious as she lets on as she is always rushing out at the most opportunistic times…such as when Arya must wait for her grandfather and they do not know how long it would take.

Arya tried listening at the door in the beginning, but she could not hear actual words. The heavy redwood doors of Riverrun do not lend themselves eavesdropping and she has no excuse to go to the storeroom in order to find her secret passage. She is not sure if she needs it anyway as she can guess what Grandfather wishes to speak of. He is finally going to lecture her about going on to the ramparts as Tytos Blackwood has yet to give her a good enough reason that would make her break her word to Uncle Edmure. Besides she enjoys taunting the men below as they have yet to do anything at all. They must have lost all of their energy and bravery at the Golden Tooth and the battle near Riverrun.

She goes to go walk to the other side again when the door swings open, nearly hitting her. Lord Tytos Blackwood and Utherydes are in the door way, with a look of almost surprise at seeing her.

“Why are you lurking in a doorway, Lady Arya?” Utherydes asks dryly.

“Grandfather sent for me and I was waiting for him.”

“Waiting in doorways is a good way to get hit, Lady Arya.”

“I shall keep that in mind, Utherydes. Now can I go in?” Arya asks, trying to peer over the men into Grandfather’s chamber.

“Yes, my lady. I believe it is your turn.” Lord Tytos says, sternly. She wonders if he has another tone of voice. He must have, though, for she has heard it. He speaks much more softly to Bethany, but he uses the same voice with Elaenor as he does with Arya so she is not sure that it is personal. Perhaps he is just a hard man.

Arya nods to the men as they pass her before entering the room. Candles are lit as well as the fire. Maester Vyman stands next to Grandfather’s bed and Grandfather looks so old now, somehow smaller and older than before. The news of Edmure’s capture has not helped his illness yet it was news that could not be kept from him. The longer the siege goes on the frailer Grandfather appears to be.

“Good evening, Grandfather.”

“Hello, Arya. How are you?” Grandfather says as Arya walks towards his bed.

“Well enough, Grandfather. The men-at-arms and knights managed to take their fights outside today. I told the last ones who broke their chairs, a Blackwood and a Bracken I think, that if they did it again I would make them repair the chairs.”

“Good, I’ll not have them destroying the keep. I hear they are not the only ones behaving poorly. I’ve heard something about you antagonizing our captors.” Grandfather says, his voice is firm but she can hear it wavering, which is still better than the day before.

“I do not think they can even hear me.” Arya says shifting from one foot to the other, whishing Nymeria was beside her instead of curling up on the myrish rug in front of the fire.

“Do you know?”

“…No.”

“What if they can hear you, Arya? What if your little jokes make them angry enough to take it out on Edmure. I was under the impression you went to the battlements for him.”

Arya only could stare at him. She had not thought of that, had not thought of what they could do to Edmure. Uncle Edmure? Brave, strong Uncle Edmure? No one could touch him he was so strong and he was so charming that no one would want to. Sure he could be a bit overly solemn if you pricked is temper, but on the whole there were few better men than her Uncle.

Grandfather is looking at her, clearly expecting an answer, “I-I did not think, Grandfather. I did not want to put Uncle Edmure in danger…I just wanted to wait for him.”

“And to do that you had to yell at men who would put an arrow through your throat and knife to Edmure’s?”

Arya does not know what to say, merely forces herself to look into Grandfather’s eyes. She wants badly to look at her shoes, but she is direwolves and direwolves are never afraid even of old men with good (terrifying) points.

“I do not like you up there, Arya, but I understand why you go. Your mother would have done the same for me at your age, but she would never had called over to combatants who would have harmed me.”

“I did not mean to have Uncle Edmure harmed.”

“I know, child, and if the Kingslayer is smart Edmure is still intact, but you need to think more. You act with out thinking and one day the consequences will not be something that can be undone.”

“Y-yes, Grandfather.”

“Good. Now that is not the only reason I have called you in here. As you know we are under siege-”

“The tents and men tipped me off”

“Clever girl,’ Grandfather said sounding less than impressed, ‘Being under siege means that there is a chance that those men will be able to storm the castle. Should they be able to overtake us you, Bethany, and Elaenor will go on boat out of the Water Gate.”

“What?” Arya asks, confused. The thought of losing has not crossed her mind. Of course they were going to win, all they had to do was wait. Besides she is sure that the North has heard and is coming for her. The North would never abandon Father, Sansa, and her in the South.

Grandfather continues as if she had not interrupted, “That means that you need the means to pay people off if it comes to it. Now, your northern clothing. Your dresses and cloaks are layered, yes? Two cloths stitched together to create the fabric instead of one.”

“Yes, I think so, but Grandfather- ”

“Good. You there,’ he calls out to Becca making her stand a little straighter, ‘pay attention as you are to help her.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Becca says giving a curtsy.

Grandfather turns back to Arya, “Firstly I want you to go to your Grandmother’s rooms and get her jewelry box, it is still on her vanity. Bring it back here and we will continue. While you do this your handmaiden will go retrieve Elaenor and Bethany as well as one of your Northern gown and bring them here.”

“Now?”

“Do you suppose we have time to wait?”

“No?”

“Correct, now go. Be quick about it.”

Arya nods and leaves the room. She has been in most of the rooms of the keep, the only ones that she knows she has never been in are the ones that belong to the true Lady of the keep, the ones where Grandmother slept and someday Edmure’s bride would sleep.

They are not far from Grandfather’s rooms and the large redwood doors give the owner of the room away. Unlike the rest of the doors in the keep the doors of the Lord and Lady’s chambers have carvings on them. On Grandfather’s door is a depiction of the Father standing on a grassy hill, holding a long sword. Grandmother’s door has the image of the Mother upon it, where she is holding a babe and standing on the bank of a river while children crowd around her.

She hesitates opening Grandmother’s door. It feels odd to enter a room that is so complicated. It both belongs to someone and no one. Unbidden thoughts of ghosts in Harrenhal spring to mind. Did the Ladies of Riverrun still remain in this room? Were Grandmother and Lucinda Broome still in the rooms? Were they keeping separate ones now because the Westerlands host had Riverrun under siege and Lucinda was from the Westerlands? Did they get on before? Were ghosts even real?

Even if they Arya is not going to be afraid of them. She was not afraid of them in Winterfell, so she shall not fear them here. Still after she grabs a torch, there should be no candles in the room, she knocks on the door. When no reprimand is given, she creaks the door open.

 _No one was going to say anything, stupid_ she reprimands herself, _ghosts are not real. Even if they are why would they speak to you?_

“Hello? Grandmother? I’m Arya, Catelyn Tully’s daughter. Is it alright if I come in? Grandfather said I have to get your jewelry box because we are under siege.”

She walks further into the room, leaving the doors open for the light. The bed chamber is as large as Grandfather’s, but the windows are a little bigger. The bed seems to be a tad smaller though. Arya cannot see very well in the dim light, so she goes in the direction of where her vanity is.

“I’m not really sure why I have to get your jewelry box. Grandfather was talking about what would happen if Jaime Lannister got into the keep and then he started to talk about your jewelry and how my Northern gowns – I’m from Winterfell in the North – and then he sent me to get your box. Grandmother? Are you still speaking with Great Great Great Great Great like _really_ Great Grandmother Lucinda? Because I’m not sure where her loyalties would lie. Do ghosts have loyalties?” she asks.

She finds the dressing table and the box sits upon it still. Arya is surprised that it is in here rather than the solar, but she supposes that Grandfather would not have much use for it.

When she lifts it, it is heavier than she expects and larger. As soon as she lifts it up her arms swing down and she lets out a groan as she battles to hold the torch and the box.

“How much jewelry did you need? How is anyone supposed to lift this? Really Great Grandmother Lucinda if you are making this box heavier because of what I said about your loyalties, I am sorry…I guess it’s not you then. Whoever it is please knock it off.”

It takes some work and Arya almost lights the myrish rug and the door on fire, but she makes it out of the room and to Grandfather’s chambers, though she did shove the torch at some poor page or squire before reaching her destination.   

When she makes it the girls and Becca are waiting outside of the door for her and Septa Donyse has joined them, Nymeria presumably still sleeping by the fire. When they go inside the chamber it appears that Nymeria has made herself comfortable on Granfather’s bed at his feet.

“Took you long enough. Your wolf is a incorrigible animal, Arya.” Grandfather says, but there is no steel behind it.

“I brought the box, it weighs a ton.” Arya says hefting the thing on to the bed. In the light of Grandfather’s chambers she can see how pretty it is. The box is as large as she thought it was with a domed lid. It is painted a light blue and on all of the sides are paintings that look kind of like the ones on the House Fortune board. There is one side with knights, another with ladies, another with lords and ladies, but the top shows the Tully crest.

Instead of opening it Grandfather motions for Becca and the handmaiden hands over one of Arya’s heavy Northern gowns.

“Now pay attention, you want to slit the fabric like this.” Grandfather says slitting the bottom hem where the outer layer and the liner meet. Arya is still lost, but the Septa and Becca seem to have caught on since they are nodding.

Grandfather then lifts the top layer to show the inner layer and pulling the jewelry box closer. “You will take a thin necklace or a bracelet or a ring and place it like so on the inner layer.’ He pulls out a golden bracelet covered in sapphires, ‘ You will then do some small stitching to hold it in place before sewing the top layer back on. Should you flee you will wear these gown out of the castle. Try not to sell all of them.”

Arya is still staring, but Septa Donyse is a lot faster than Arya ever gives her credit for, “Shall we do the cloaks as well? We can sew inner pocket into them.”

“Yes, Septa. That sounds perfect.”

“Wait,’ Arya says shaking her head, ‘Should Riverrun be invaded and we have to flee you want use to take jewelry? For what?”

“To sell, Lady Arya,’ the Septa says before Grandfather can, ‘Sell it and go buy passage on a ship or a horse or pay off ransom. You do what must be done.”

“What about the gowns, though? Will they not be ruined if we have to reopen them again, Lord Hoster?” Elaenor asks, fingering the dark blue fabric of Arya’s gown.

“Mayhap. I would rather ruined gowns than for none of you to be prepared. Besides at all of your ages gowns come and go so quickly, in a moon or two Arya will have outgrown these.”

Arya worries her lip, that seems an odd thought. Most of what she brought from the North was clothing. She did not play with dolls and was not fond of embroidery so there was not much else for her to take with her. The only real mementos she has from the North are Nymeria and Needle and her clothing. What happens when she does not have all of that? She misses the North and does not want to lose more parts of it even if she does not use her Northern gowns often. She tries too, but the days are just too warm for them.

 When she first came to Riverrun the gowns had been a comfort in many ways, the ones that had been in trunks that had not been opened still smelled of Winterfell. When she was homesick she would try to wear the gowns as long as she could stand, trying to get the smell to rub off on her. After all of these moons, though, everything smells of Riverrun. The smell of smoke and pine and snow has been replaced by the smell of flowers and grass and, more recently, rain. It is not an unpleasant smell, but it is not really the one she wants. Even Nymeria smells a bit different now.

Grandfather hands the box over to Becca and Septa Donyse takes the gown, but in the shuffle and necklace falls out of the box. It is a simple chain with an silver pendant, no jewels or gems. When Arya picks it up she sees that the pendant is round and in the center shows a bat.

“What is this?” she asks Grandfather, handing it to him.

“It was your Grandmother Minisa’s necklace. She wore it up until her death, she did not want it to burn with it.”

Arya understands then, Grandmother must have been the first born daughter. Sansa was given a pendant like that, though it was a wolf’s head in the middle instead of a bat and it was made of iron instead of silver. These necklaces were meant only for the first born daughters, a way of showing their seniority within the household. As a child Arya had been jealous of it, especially since her sister rarely wore it. Why couldn’t she have one too? What did it matter? When she had broached the issue with Father he smiled and gave her a hug and promised that he would get her something special, something that was just for her. On her next name day Father had presented her with a iron cuff bracelets with running wolves on it. It was a necklace like Sansa’s or Mother’s, though hers had a fish, but she hugged him anyway.

“Here, you should have it.” Grandfather says taking her hand and putting it in her palm.

“Why? I am not a first born or a Whent.”

“No, you are neither of those things, but you are her granddaughter and if you do not wear this who will?”

Arya does not have an answer for that. She looks at the pendant in her hand for a moment. It’s not a direwolf like Sansa’s, but she hugs Grandfather anyway.

iv.

“What happened to the banner?” Arya asks half leaning over the wall. Nymeria is following her lead, though not bending as much as her legs do not have elbows. Having sympathy for her wolf, Arya turns to Nymeria, “It is half gone, Nym. Barely any of the fish is left.”

“Will you knock it off?” Wyllem – she has made it a point to learn his name - snaps, forcing her off of the wall and on to her feet, ‘I’ll tell Lord Tully you are up here causing a fuss.”

“Well go tell him, then.” Arya says, knowing the archer cannot leave his post to tattle on her.

He knows this too and back off on, to stand in his specified spot. Arya does not climb over the wall again, but she does get close enough to look over it. Something had changed, though she did not know what. One evening some had appeared to ride off and then they never returned. Well, she could not tell that herself but when she asked Ethyn, a young man-at-arms from Bracken who took shifts keeping watch, if they had returned he said he had not seen them. She wonders what they rode off for. Maybe they were as bored as the rest of them were. To be fair Elaenor and Bethany were not bored since they were still working on hiding the jewelry in clothing, but after the first hour…or fifteen minutes Arya tired of it leaving her with little to do other than her usual duties. Even that was rather difficult since the servants could not clean properly and meal plans were not as time consuming when they needed to be as minimal as possible. Mostly she practices with Needle in the Gods Wood. If the Lannister host breaches the gate Arya could help to defend Riverrun.

She is about to turn to Nymeria and suggest they head back inside when Wyllem rips her away from the wall, “Get down!” he yells into her ear.

Arya looks up expecting to see a rain of arrows. Can picture hooks attaching themselves to the battlements and shortly after men climbing over them. She expects to see that Lannister host has brought catapolts or elephants are giant vultures. When she looks, however, she is unimpressed.

“It’s a raven.” She tells Wyllem, who is staring at the bird clearly confused. Nymeria is busily sniffling at the bird while it jumps away only to be met with Nymeria’s snout again. When Nymeria sits down looking at the bird, it’s an odd looking creature, but its harmless.

Arya shakes Wyllem off and heads towards the bird.

“Lions. Lions. Lions.” It says, hopping a bit. Arya has always found it amusing that ravens can speak, but their voices make her a bit nervous.

“We can see that, stupid bird. What do they want?” she asks the bird, half expecting an actual response.

“Lions.” The bird replies.

Arya holds out a hand the way she had seen Father or Mother do when birds came and it climbed on to her hands.

“That is not safe, my lady, it could be diseased.”

Arya heaves a sigh before nodding. She sets the raven back down and unties the scroll from its leg. “Corn. Corn. Corn.” It yells at her, wanting a reward.

“Hold on a moment. Enough of that squawking or we will eat _you._ ” Arya says before turning to go to Grandfather’s solar.

She looks at the scroll, trying to see if there are any lose edges that could just happen to come undone as she walks through the Godswood. She does not see any. It is odd though, she has not seen the Lannister seal but she had suspected that it would be a lion on red or gold wax. The seal on this letter was simple red wax. Maybe there was no time or the King Slayer was simply lazy or maybe it was an insult. The Tully host was not even worthy of the seal of Lannister. How dare they?

When Arya makes it to Grandfather’s solar, he has taken to laying there on his day bed these days, she knocks as she opens the door. The process of waiting for permission is much too long when a mysterious raven has come.

 “The Lannisters sent a raven.” Arya announces before Grandfather can lecture her. Lord Tytos, Maester Vyman, and Grandfather look a bit confused, as if he wants to lecture her but her news is more important than a lesson in propriety.

“They what?” Maester Vyman asks.

“A raven flew on to the battlements,’ Arya says placing the scroll on Grandfather’s desk, ‘Why would they send a raven?’

“To talk terms or give disheartening news or to renew threats.” Lord Tytos says, but he is watching Grandfather open the scroll.

“Wyllem said they may have sent the raven to spread disease.”

“Did it seem sick?”

“No, but it kept asking for corn. It spoke of nothing but lions and corn.”

“They tend to be single minded creatures, Lady Arya.” Maester Vyman says, but his eyes are on Grandfather as well.

Grandfather for his part is not smiling, this scroll is clearly not about retreat. His face is not red like when he was mad, it’s more grey. It reminds her of when the news of Edmure’s capture came. Grandfather had gotten so pale and so quiet, the air was similar. Arya feels her heart drop into her tummy as the silence stretches on. What if this scroll is to tell them about the death of Uncle Edmure? What if they were torturing him? What if Grandfather was right and they were hurting him because Arya taunted the Lannister host? What if they killed him because of her?

She thinks her heart stops beating when Grandfather turns to her and motions for her. She goes to him even when she does not want to the look on his face tells her that she does not want to know what is happening. The scroll was a fun mystery at first, now she wishes she had never seen it.

When she gets close enough he takes her hand in his, his hands are shaking more these days she notices distantly. “Arya, child, I am so sorry. You’re Father…he…he has passed on.”

“I don’t understand, Grandfather.”

Grandfather closes his eyes for a moment, this is clearly a conversation he wants no part in, “Eddard was executed.”

“No.” she says sternly.

No.

That is not true. It cannot be true. There is no world in which her Father has perished and left her all alone. If he had died she would have known, would have felt something change. If he had died she would not have been teasing Bethany about her enduring crush on Alyn Haigh and she would not have been making up lyrics to the songs that Elaenor played nor would she continue her quest to make Septa Donyse have a permanent blush. If Father was gone she would know.

In the distance she hears Lord Tytos saying that the King Slayer did not write the scroll and ask where he could be. Distantly she hears Maester Vyman ask where the raven was. Distantly she feels something warm slid down her cheeks and Grandfather’s face begins to blur. Someone far off is screaming. She wants to ask who and why. Who did they lose that they should be screaming that way. She wants to tell them to shut up. Distantly she feels hands on her shoulder and someone is trying to tell her something but she cannot hear them over the screaming. Who is screaming so? She is surprised that they are allowed to continue as Grandfather hates such commotion.

She feels other hands on her and motion and the screaming is lessening, but her cheeks are still too wet and her head is beginning to pound. She can no longer see Grandfather there are other forms around her and she can hear Nymeria howling. She feels her wolf’s fur under her hands and it brings some comfort. Father was not here, but Nymeria was. If Nymeria was here then this was no nightmare was it? Oh, but it had to be, this could not be real.

The screaming has lessened some more and her head hurts more and her cheeks are still wet. Something somewhere opens her mouth and something sickly sweet goes in it. She goes to spit it out, the taste is not one she likes, but a hand covers her mouth and another massages her throat. She swallows and then the screaming stops and everything else stops too, except for the blackness that comes for her.

v.

“The King slayer is not at the camp. This is the time to retrieve Lord Edmure.” Lord Jonos Bracken says, slamming his fist on the table making half of the room jump, but not Arya. Arya spent most of her life around the loud rough men of the North, besides not much is cutting through her numbness at the moment. Nothing had cut through it since she had awoken two days ago to the news her Father was dead and that Sansa might as well be for Arya knew.

When she woke the afternoon the next day Bethany and Elaenor had flanked either side of her with Nymeria at their feet. She had a pounding headache and was still left with the memory of being told that Father was dead. His face flashed across her mind and she wanted to cry again. In her mind he was smiling softly at her amusement twinkling in his eyes. Whenever he lectured her his eyes always gave him away.

She had not spoken the day she woke up. Had only laid in that bed and tried not to cry again and slept. When the girls had gone off to take their meals Nymeria had climbed up to be beside her and Arya buried her face in her fur. Nymeria did not care if Arya got her fur wet with her tears. She laid there and sometimes would bathe her face with her tongue. When she slept she did not dream, only welcomed the comforting blackness. 

The next day Septa Donyse had forced her out of bed, but Arya did not know what to do. The Septa suggested praying in the Sept for Father.

“Pray to the Seven? For what? What good are the Seven to Father when he worships- _worshipped_ the Old Gods? What good were the Seven to Father when he was in their land? Why should I pray to the Seven?”

“They say your brother marches South, my lady, pray for him. He worships the Seven does he not?”

“Just because we knelt in the Sept with Mother does not make us true believers, Septa. Robb went to the Sept when he had to, not because he chose too. I’m not going to the Sept. I’m going to the Godswood.” Arya said and gave the old woman a glare, daring her to challenge her.

Septa Donyse did not challenge her, but it took Arya longer than she thought to get to the Godswood. None of her dresses fit right. All of them were too colorful, even the gowns from Winterfell were too bright. She ordered Becca and a few maids to see if any of the gowns that her Mother and Aunt wore when Grandmother Minisa had died. There should still be some mourning gowns if the other gowns remained.

It took about an hour, but the girls came back with a few gowns. The smaller ones were too tight, she supposed they were Lysa’s, and the larger ones were a bit too big. Becca, and Elaenor when she came across the scene, did some hasty adjustments to the larger ones while Arya watched impassively from her spot on the little padded bench in front of her window with Bethany beside her.

When they were done with one of the gowns Arya quickly pulled it on, nearly ripping the stitches. As soon as she had her lamb skin slippers on she was out of her chambers, not even bothering to braid her hair. Who cared what her hair looked like? Down, up, braided, all three. It did not matter. All that mattered was that Arya needed to talk to the Gods.

“Oi!’ she yelled when she saw the solemn looking weirwood, ‘You Gods! You all powerful Gods!”

She went up the Weirwood until she stood nose to bark with it and glared at its crimson eyes.

“You bring him back! You bring him back right now, you stupid gods.’ She demanded, using her best I-am-chatelain-of-this-keep voice. She did not use it often, but she practiced it for if the need ever arose.

She waited for a moment and looked around. She half expected Father to walk from around the tree or climbing down and would thank her and hug her and kiss her hair. All would be well. After five minuets she realized that all would not be well just yet. So she tried a different approach.

“He trusted in you! Trusted that you would protect him from harm. He would sit with you for hours. Does that mean nothing? Does his faith mean nothing? Does he…does he mean nothing?”

Still nothing and then something in her broke.

She lunged for the tree and hit it hard with her fists, “Bring him back! Bring him back! Bring him back!”

On and on it went. It went on until Elaenor and Septa Donyse and Becca wrestled her away from the tree. It went on until her hands were bloody and Arya could not tell what was sap and what was blood. As Arya looked at her bloody and bruised hands and Septa Donyse yelled for someone to get the Maester Arya looked at the weirwood and was angered to find that the tree looked completely fine, even with bits of her blood on it.

Now, two days later, she sits in Grandfather’s solar, hands still tightly bandaged with salve, and watches where the Tumblstone and the Red Fork meet. The water rushes on and on and part of her understands while Grandfather likes to watch it. Water does not care what is happening in the solar. The water does not care that Arya’s life has crumbled. The water does not care that Father was de-gone. It did not care that Lannisters prowled that gates and the strangers had shown up on the Northern bank. The water did not care who held the castle.

Or maybe it did. Arya remembers Old Nan’s stories about the Children of the Forest. Before they were killed off the Children could talk to the trees and the rocks and rivers. Maybe the water does care, but cannot say so. Maybe it did not dry up completely because it did not know Father, just the like stones did not. She cannot forgive the Weirwood tree who had seen Mother and Father wed.

The castle is rather quiet now, even Grandfather has fallen asleep. Supper has come and gone and now came that quiet hour. Arya tries of watching the water and amuses herself by looking at the constellations. Maester Vyman taught her some of the southern ones so she practices those. She tries hard to not think about the Northern constellations and how she learned them. Does not want to think of being small and crawling into Father’s lap late at night when she has slid from the bed she shared with Sansa and has gone to his solar. He would look at her questioningly and pick her up, “What are you doing here?” he would ask.

She would shrug and snuggle into him. Some nights he would carry her over to the window to look at the stars and point out some of them. She knows the stars of the North as well as she knows her own freckles.

Maester Vyman is not Father and Arya is too old to climb into his lap. Still some warm nights when he is not too busy she goes to him and he teaches her the stars. It makes her feel a bit better to have the heavens as familiar to her as the ground. She is trying to remember where the Crone’s Lanter is when the yelling starts.

The night goes from quiet to loud in the matter of moments. Suddenly there is the clamor of armor and men yelling and running. Even Grandfather is startled awake, “Are…we under…attack?” he asks, he always weakens more in the evenings.

“I’ll see, Grandfather.” She tells him and heads to the hall.

There are men rushing all around. She tries to gain the attention of several, but finally has to settle for grabbing one.

“What do you want?” the knight shouts, before realizing who she is and turning red, “What can I do for you, my lady?” he amends, though clearly anxious to get going.

“What is happening?” she demands

“Troops are attacking the camps, we think from the Vale. Lord Tytos wants to free the prisoners during the confusion.” The knight tells her.

She nods and releases him before going to tell Grandfather.

“I…want…to see.”

“What?”

“Have them…take me to… the gatehouse. I want to see…the slaying of beasts.”

Arya understands and flees the solar yelling for servants, strong ones. In the commotion in the hallways she see Utherydes.

“Utherydes, Grandfather wants to go battlements of the Gatehouse.”

“What?”

“We need men to carry Grandfather to the Gatehouse. He wants to see the siege breaking.”

“The siege may not be breaking, Lady Arya, it is not safe.”

“Tell him that. I am just relaying his orders.” Arya says before turning to another serving boy and telling him to get Grandfather’s cloak.

She goes back into the solar, not even thinking to call Becca and ask for her own cloak. Arya wants to get outside, wants to see what is happening. Was the siege truly breaking or was it a trick? Perhaps the men from the Vale had in fact showed up. If they have, it is somewhat of a surprise to Arya. The way that Uncle Edmure spoke about it, it was clear that Aunt Lysa was not very forth coming when it came to sending men. He had not said much directly to Arya about it, but when she had asked if he had finally heard from the Vale instead of saying “Lysa” as per usual or “My sister” or something like that, he referred to her as “Your Aunt.”. Relations were clearly tense.

“Do you think Aunt Lysa sent men?” Arya asks Grandfather who is looking out to the water.

“Lysa…mayhap. Or mayhap…the Gods have come…to save us.”

Arya does not tell Grandfather that she is not sure there are Gods at all.

It is not long before three Tully guards rush into the Solar followed by Becca and Maester Vyman. Behind them come two of Grandfather’s pages struggling with a hammock litter. As Arya watches the men transfer Grandfather on to the litter, Becca helps her with her own cloak. Maester Vyman meanwhile puts a blanket over Grandfather along with the cloak before agreeing that they could make their way to the Gatehouse.

“Are you positive that this is the best place for Lady Arya?” the Maester asks when he notices Arya following them.

Grandfather appears to think on it and Arya rushes to his side.

“Please, Grandfather, please. If the siege is breaking I want to see too. I have been trapped here too.” The “it’s my father they killed” goes unsaid.

Grandfather studies her a moment and Arya is sure that he will send her back to her rooms. She is sure that she will have to go find a different way to watch the breaking of the siege, but he surprises her by nodding.

The night is cool and the stars shine bright above them still. It is not quiet, though. The nights at Riverrun are usually fairly quiet, it is part of the reason why she likes sharing a bed with Elaenor or Bethany for the quiet is too different from the loud days. Arya has never been a creature of quiet. She likes music and talking and laughing and yelling. She likes that sounds of the dogs barking and Nymeria howling and the birds signing and the sound of hooves. The noise of this night though…only the outcome will tell if she would prefer silence to them.

When the siege started and Lord Tytos and his part had locked themselves up behind the wall there had been the yelling of men, but that was about it. This night though, the noise was different. When they get to the top of the Gate house it is almost deafening. It is a wave of noise, which is a surprise given the distance. The men cannot fight directly under the walls since the moat was full and the drawbridge had lowered only to let Lord Tytos and his host out, when the last man had exited the bridge had been drawn once again.

Still Arya thinks she can hear them. She can hear the yells of men, muffled as they are, and can imagine the pounding of hooves from the horses, and she knows that there must be swords clanging together. She strains to see, trying to figure out who is winning. In the chaos she is not sure who is who. The Lannister host tents are on fire , which allow her light but even in the fire light she cannot tell who is who. She imagines that some of the men she sees are men of the Vale, with shining blue armor with hawkes on there shields. She imagines that a knight with a trout on his helm has cut down a lion. She knows little of what is going on below her even as she watches, but she takes comfort in the fact that men are not rushing to the castle yet.

“This night is ours.” Grandfather says, firmer than he has sounded since Edmure was taken.

“How can you tell?”  Arya asks.

“I know victory when I see it.”

Arya hopes he is right.

vi.

Grandfather may be ill, may be weakening with each passing day, but it turns out that he does know a victory when he sees it. Arya still is unsure how he knew, but as she stands with a bandaged Edmure at the Water Gate she is just happy he was right.

They had stood on top of the Gate House for near an hour when men had started rushing to the moat. Arya felt her stomach drop at the sight. The Lannister host had gained some confidence and they had cut down Lord Tytos and his men. Arya wished she had thought to bring Needle with her.

When the bridge is dropped the men rush inside and Arya wondered if maybe Grandfather was right. The guards at the bridge would not drop it simply for a noisy Lion knight who wanted to come inside. They would only drop it for someone who they knew was loyal to House Tully. Or maybe Grandfather was wrong and Lord Tytos was retreating again. Arya wondered how many times a man could run away before he was considered a coward.

It does not take long for an out of breathe servant to come with the news that Lord Tytos had not retreated once again. Lord Tytos and his men had released the prisoners during the confusion of the battle at the camps, Lord Edmure was back. Uncle Edmure had returned.

“Where? Where is Uncle Edmure?” Arya demanded the boy.

“T-the Great Hall, m’lday.” Arya did not bother to correct him, she had already taken off running before he had gotten her title out.

Arya ran as fast as her legs would take her, not even worried about Becca trying to follow behind her. She needed to see Uncle Edmure. Needed to know that he had survived and that the Lannisters had not tortured him. That they had not killed him. That they had not hurt him because of her.

She burst into the Great Hall and looked at the mass of men in front of her, her eyes searched for that shock of red hair and the sky blue eyes that defined her Uncle. Then she spotted him.  He stood nearest to the great table, men all around. He looked thinner and more tired than she had ever seen him, but there appeared to be no real damage, nothing too serious.

“Uncle Edmure!” she cried and ran to him. Despite just coming back when she reached him, he lifted her up in his arms.

“I should be a hostage more often,’ he joked, ‘in order to gain such a warm welcome.”

She said nothing, merely clung to him happy that he was alive. He kissed her head, before nudging her in order to get her to look at him.

When she looked at him, he was no longer smiling, “I am sorry about Ned, Arya, truly. We will avenge him.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it. His death will not go unpunished, I will give you Joffrey’s head as a gift, sweet niece.”

She clung to him tighter.

Now she stands next to Uncle Edmure, eyes fixed on the Water Gate. Mother was coming and Rob too. She wants nothing more than to see them, to know that they are alive and well and not with Father in the afterlife. She bounces on the balls of her feet, wondering if she could see their boat if she stands tall enough. She has made Uncle Edmure promise to tell her when he sees them.

“Why is taking so long?” she grumbles, reaching out to Nymeria. Her hands are still bandaged, and it feels odd to only feel Nymeria’s fur on her fingers. That does not stop her from petting Nymeria though.

“They seem closer when you spot them from the top of a tower. I’m sure they will be here soon, sweet niece.” Uncle Edmure says, giving her a pat on her head.

She had been in the middle of discussing meal plans with Cook when Elaenor had burst into the kitchen to tell her that boats were seen on their way to the Water Gate. Arya had broken off mid-sentence and ran to the gate with Elaenor, Nymeria, and Bethany close behind. When she had reached the gate she had expected to see the boats already there and Mother and Robb safely ashore. She had been prepared to latch on to her Mother. No one was there though. A few minuets later Uncle Edmure, looking less pale and more his usual self, joined them. It must have been hours of waiting (or ten minutes at most).

As they wait servants and knights started to crowd on to the battlements and some of the senior members of the household come to stand with them in the yard. Bethany and Elaenor are trying to engage Arya in a game of Guess My Thought, but she is barely paying attention to them. She tries to play along, though, in attempt to distract herself.

She’s about to guess that Bethany’s thought is Alyn Haigh just to be contrary because patience has never been something she is good at when the people on the battlement start yelling.

“Lady Catelyn!”

“Lord Robert!”

“Winterfell!”

“Tully!”

“Riverrun!”

“Stark!”

On and on it goes as she and Edmure and the part with them watch the wrought iron gate barely lift from the water.

Then the boats are there and there is Mother and Robb. Robb safe and whole, her big brother who came for her. Her big brother who was a man now. He had seen battle and won and now he was the Lord of Winterfell. His time as heir was over. Arya shoves that thought aside to focus on Mother. She looks tired and thinner than Arya has seen her, but she is here. She is here at Riverrun and everything would be alright now.

Theon Greyjoy helps Mother out of the boat and Arya runs to her. Mother is not Father, but Arya throws her arms tight around her and silently thanks whoever is listening that she is here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'm playing fast and loose with how clothing is made, but the habit of hiding jewelry in clothing is something that was done if people thought they would need to flee.  
> \- During a siege it was not uncommon for the invaders to try to down the moral of the defenders, which is why the news of Ned's death is sent.  
> \- The litter used for Hoster is actually based in the 1800's, but litters can be traced back to the Tudor era


	10. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Catleyn have a power struggle, the girls deal with two additions, Robb deals with a new position, and Arya finds a hero in Dacey Mormont.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,  
> I'm not super in love with this chapter, but i wanted to post something. Classes have started back up again, so i am getting back into the swing of things. Also a line or two in this chapter is straight from the book, in those cases there is a "*" next to the line. 
> 
> Something important to know in this chapter is no one comes out looking great. Grief and stress can make us do and say things that we would not normally. Also little girls are not always the greatest at being kind, especially to newcomers. So go into this chapter with the understanding that none of these characters are perfect, they make mistakes and bad decisions. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! As always kudos and comments are appreciated (i love talking to you guys!).

i.

“And there is the chamomile and the daisies and then there are the star thistles…” Arya points out as she leads Robb to the Heart Tree, Nymeria and Grey Wind scampering ahead of them. Nymeria is as happy to be reunited with her pack mate as Arya is to be reunited with hers it would appear.  

“You know all of them it seems.” Robb says with a laugh, though it sounds off.  

Arya ignores the strangeness of it.  

“Sometimes when Maester Vyman needs more herbs or flowers he gives me a list and tells me to go find them. It’s like a treasure hunt…but with flowers.  Septa Donyse and Bethany and Elaenor,’ who have wisely found somewhere else to be, ‘teach me which flowers are which. Since we don’t have some of them in Winterfell’s hot houses.” Arya explains, feeling proud that she has more flowers memorized. She remembers the two and thirty flowers she had not recognized on her trip with King Robert’s host, she feels proud that she knows near all of them now.  

Robb smiles at her and turns to where the heart tree stands, its bloody eyes watching them wearily. Arya wishes that he would have mussed her hair or praised her accomplishment, but it appears her elder brother has other pressing matters. He unsheathes his sword in front of the Heart Tree and plants the very tip into the ground before kneeling. The Lords (and Maege Mormont) who followed them to the Heart’s Tree do the same. Arya, still standing, looks from them to the tree. Her eyes narrow. The gods cannot have her brother. They took Father, they do not get to take Robb too.  

She cannot bring herself to kneel, so she steps around the kneeling Lords (and Maege Mormont) towards the edge of the gardens. She does not wish to pray, does not wish to talk to the gods yet even if Robb and his host believe them involved in helping to break the siege. She does not remember the gods appearing that night on the battlefield. The weirwood in the garden did not rise and take up arms, no army of hidden Children of the Forest emerged to come to their aid. It was men who fought, not the gods. Why should she thank them for something they did not do?

She looks at Robb kneeling there and is hit by the fact that Robb somehow looks no different than her memory and almost a stranger at the same time. The fiery red hair on his cheeks is new. It makes him look like Uncle Edmure. In all honesty if Arya took Robb somewhere where no one knew him she could probably pass him off as Edmure’s natural born son.

The beard makes him look older. As does the armor. Arya is used to seeing her brother with clean cheeks and a tunic or doublet. Seeing him now kneeling in front of the Heart Tree, sword in hand, clad in light armor, surrounded by Norther bannermen, she cannot help but wonder if she had been in Riverrun longer than she thinks. Surely it could not have been a year quite yet so where has her brother gone and who was this man who has replaced him?

“Arya,” a voice calls out to her and Arya turns around to see Mother heading towards her.

“Mother.” She says back, heading towards her. Arya may almost be a woman grown, but she still wants to be close to her mother, to hold her hand and be sure that she was truly there.

When mother reaches her she smiles and runs a hand through her hair, her lips twisting slightly at all of the tangles. Becca tries, she really does, but Arya’s hair loves to tangle. Running and riding and playing do not go well with smooth hair.

Arya ignores this and instead explains, “Robb wanted to pray. Is Grandfather awake now?”

“I see that, he has reason enough to thank the gods. Father is resting now, but I am sure he will see you later.”

“He was stronger when I got here. He has been bedridden for near three moons now.” Arya says earning a frown.

“Robb gave me your raven scroll when I arrived at Moat Caillin. Why did you not mention it, Arya? Edmure I can understand, but I would have thought you would have written.”

“When I wrote you Grandfather was not bedridden,’ Arya exclaims, not liking the accusation in Mother’s voice, ‘And when he did collapse, Uncle Edmure told me not to tell.”

Mother still does not look pleased and Arya cannot tell whether it is directed at her or not, but before Mother can speak Robb is walking over to them. His host of lords and Maege Mormont, a few paces behind.

“Mother, we must call a council. There is much to discuss”*

“I know there is Robb. First, though, Father would like to see you, he is ill.”

“I thought you said he is resting.” Arya interjects, earning herself a look.

“I will see him after the council. I am sorry, Mother, about Lord Hoster. But there is news from the South that Renly is trying for the iron throne.”

With that Arya and Grandfather are forgotten. Mother is focused on the news of Renly and his plans. Arya still follows behind them when the group decides to go to the Great Hall for the council. When Uncle Edmure and the River lords join the group they do not seem to notice her either. She would run off now to go riding with Elaenor and Bethany, but Grandfather will want to know what is being discussed.

“I would not think a little lady would have interest in a war council,’ A gravely voice from beside her muses. She had not even noticed the Blackfish strolling beside her, ‘Do you know who I am, girl?”

“Grandfather will want to know what is happening,’ Arya explains, ‘And aye, I know you. You are Great Uncle Blackfish who ran to the Vale instead of marrying the Redwyne girl.”

Uncle Blackfish laughs at that, “I see my brother is still on that.”

“Grandfather did not tell me, Uncle Edmure did.”

“Did Hoster tell you anything about me?”

“No…he told me about Grandmother, though, and Danelle the Mad. Maester Vyman is usually the one who tells me who people are.”

The older man looks somewhere between amused and saddened. Arya is not really sure what to say, but would rather find something to talk about than walk in this silence.

“Why is your gate called the Bloody Gate? Do many battles happen there?”

“Aye they have. It is said that during the Age of Heroes would smash themselves to bits against the gate again and again. King Harwyn Hoare captured all of the Riverlands, but never the Eryie. Three times he tried to get passed the gate and three times he failed. It has been rather boring actually.”

“Really?” Arya asks wrinkling her nose.

“Yes, but sometimes boring is not as bad as the alternative.”

Arya disagrees with that whole heartedly.

 ii.

“Could your mother not choose anyone other than those two?” Elaenor asks as she sheds her gown.

“She did not choose them, Walder Frey did or one of his sons.”

“Still. She should have given her opinion or at least said who would suit you best.” Elaenor insists.

Arya cannot blame her. The day after Mother and Robb’s arrival had brought the arrival of the new Frey host. Arya had been in charge of sleeping arrangements ever since Elaenor and Bethany had come to Riverrun, even during the siege it had been her responsibility, but with when House Frey arrived she had tried to get Utherydes to do it. There were too many of them. The man was unusually sympathetic to her plight, but did not agree to do it for her instead he said he would help her. Why every inconvenience had to be a lesson Arya would never know. Still Arya did her job. Telling Cook to add at least twenty people to the menu did not earn her any favor in that corner.

Arya takes a moment to take her hair out of it loose braid before jumping into the cool water of the Red Fork. It had been all too long since she had gone for a ride an swim. After all that she had done she deserves this. Besides that it how life works at Riverrun, Arya completes her duties and then the day is hers for the most part. This day she wants to swim with her friends…her actual friends not companions who Mother forced upon her without thinking if any of them would get along.

“It’s not Arwyn’s fault, though, not really. She’s so old, it must be hard.” Bethany says as she inches into the water.

“She is only ten and three, she is only two years older than I am.’ Elaenor says when she comes up from the water, ‘She’s probably upset because she’s only here because of Elma-”

Arya cuts her off with a splash, “Do not say that name in my presence.”

Arya once thought that Joffrey Baratheon was the most annoying being in existence, she was wrong. Joffrey was the most vile creature in existence, but Elmar Frey was the most annoying though Mother and Robb were both vying for the position. Of course she is not speaking to Mother so that is less of an issue. She had not spoken to Mother or Robb for near three days after Mother told her that she was to marry Elmar Frey and Robb was useless.

“It’s not fair!” she’d cried.

“I’m going to marry a Frey too, Arya. Roslin and I will be wed after the war is won.” Robb said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.

“I do not care who you are marrying, Robb! Marry all the Frey girls for all I care. I. Will. Not. Marry. Him.”

“There is no need to get so upset, Arya,’ Mother sighed, ‘There will be time enough before you are wed to get used to the idea. You are too young yet.”

“It won’t matter if I live to be one hundred and five, I will not change my mind. I’ll not marry him or anyone else!”

“You will. I am the Lord of Winterfell now, Arya and if I say you are betrothed to Elmar then you are.” Robb said in that stupid i-am-the-heir tone that was now the i-am-the-lord tone. She hated that tone.

Arya said nothing, she rose from her chair and ran from the sitting room they had sat down in to her room. She slammed the door shut and shoved one of her heavy chests of against it, she wanted to speak to no one.

“I wish they sent Merry. You would like Merry, Arya.” Bethany says.

“Oh? I did not realize you spent much time with the Freys.”

“Merry is a distant cousin. Old Lord Frey’s fourth wife was a Blackwood – Alyssa, I think – so I’ve seen I’ve spent time with some of them, not much though. I remember Merry being fun.”

“Maybe you should write them. Bethany,’ Elaenor says, ‘tell the Old Lord that we will trade Merry for Arwyn, but we are keeping White Walda. She might work out if we can get her away from Arwyn.”

Arya hums in agreement and kicks up to float on her back. Closing her eyes, she basks in the feeling of the sun on her face. She wonders if the next time they come swimming they should invite Walda. So far the girl has seemed less than promising as she spends most of her time with her elder cousin. Of course Walda might want to talk about Elmar and call her cousin and Arya could not abide that. She would probably leave the girl tied to a tree or something.

“If Walda calls me cousin I will drown her.” Arya says.

“Don’t be so morbid,’ Elaenor sniffs, ‘if she calls you cousin we’ll trade her too. There are enough girls of Frey that we could trade them again and again until finding a match.”  

“Or you could send her to the dungeons! Or lock her in a tower since you’re a princess and all.” Bethany suggests cheerily.

“Don’t call me that.” Arya grumbles.

Robb being crowned king was a shock. One that she was excited for, her big brother would be the best king. As she stood in the Great Hall she had taken up the call of “King in the North” as well and she could hear the direwolves join in outside by howling. It was all terribly exciting until Lord Karstark addressed her as princess. She was as much as a princess as she was a lady. Arya was her Grandfather’s spy, Uncle Edmure’s confidant, the best friend of Bethany Blackwood and Elaenor Mooton, the best rider in the North and the Riverlands, the wielder of Needle, and the chatelaine of Riverrun, but she was no princess.

“But it’s your proper title, my princess.” Elaenor taunts, her grin wide.

“And I’m commanding you to stop calling me by it.”

“As you wish, princess.”

“I think I’ll drown you and keep Walda.” Arya says as she dunks Elaenor into the water.

Arya’s laughter is cut short when Elaenor grabs her ankle and pulls.

The ride back to Riverrun is pleasant. They have not gone far, but it is far enough to earn a good ride. Nymeria surges ahead, Grey Wind close behind. Robb’s direwolf rarely left his side, but today he decided to join his sister in this outing. It had been too long since Nymeria had hunted properly, during the siege she was given dried meat, so this had been a much anticipated event. Arya enjoyed watching the wolves playing together, it felt so normal. Besides with Nymeria here Grey Wind would be able to adjust to the South better. Even though it has been at least two moons since Robb left Winterfell the wolf still seemed uneasy and was agitated easily. Arya was sure that Nymeria would help him through it and these outings would help with the feelings of confinement. These outings help Arya with that too.

When they reach the bailey of Riverrun Uncle Edmure, who is speaking with Jonos Bracken, is nearly run over by the wolves as they race past. Lord Jonos looks unamused, though Arya thinks that might just be his face, but Edmure lets out a laugh and looks to where Arya has brought Trout to a stop.

“I would appreciate if your wolves did not stampede the men, dear niece.”

“I do not think only two direwolves count as a stampede.”

“One direwolf counts as two wolves, I should think.” Uncle Edmure says almost getting a foot to the face as Arya swings down from her horse. She has never been one to wait for help to get down, preferring to simply leap off.

“They are just puppies.”

“Rather large for puppies,’ Uncle Edmure muses and pushes a clumpy strand of wet hair out of Arya’s face, ‘I see you went swimming.”

“It has been too long, Uncle. I needed to get out of the keep.”

“We all did!” Bethany pipes up as a stable hand assists her off of her mare.

“I cannot fault you there. After all of this a bit of fun is needed,’ Uncle Edmure smiles before turning serious, ‘You lot still need to be careful. The battles are won, but there are still bandits out there.”

Arya is about to remind Uncle Edmure about the stampeding direwolves when she sees Mother rushing towards them, clearly unhappy. Her tummy flips. Has something happened to Robb? To Grandfather? No, not Grandfather. If something was wrong with Grandfather, Uncle Edmure would not be standing before her smiling. Had she received news from Bran? Mayhap something happened at Winterfell. Arya did write that letter to him, so she knows little of what occurred. Since she is avoiding Mother and Robb she has not been able to ask about Winterfell.

But that probably is not it either since Septa Donyse and Becca are rushing behind Mother. Arya has never seen either of them ever look so flustered. Becca tends towards cheekiness and cheeriness while Septa Donyse is usually either serene or merry enough. Arya does not think that Septa Donyse would make it as a Silent Sister for all that the woman enjoyed talking or humming or singing. Mayhap one of the Frey girls felt insulted that they did not get to go. In all honesty Arya had not even thought of them until they had made it to the river. If that is what is upsetting Mother that is rather unfair. When Arya was little and upset that Sansa and Jeyne Poole would not let her join their games Mother told her to let the older girls be. Well the girls of Frey could let Arya be, just like she did for Sansa and Jeyne Poole.

“Where have you been, little lady?” Mother demands, thunderous. Arya has not seen Mother this mad in a long time, not since Arya tried to climb North Tower with Bran.

“We went to the Red Fork, for a swim. And Nymeria and Ghost wanted to hunt.” Arya explains. Obviously Mother will calm down now. Even Grandfather, even as stubborn and proper as he is, has never ordered Arya not to go swimming.

“Arya, you cannot go running around like that! It is inappropriate for you girls to be swimming in the river. What if someone saw? You should be here practicing your embroidery or music or poetry. I hear it has gotten no better.” Mother says sternly, Arya feels her face turn warm with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

“I don’t do embroidery. I do my duties and have lesson with Maester Vyman and then the day is mine. I finished doing what I was supposed to do, so I can go. Right, Uncle Edmure?” she asks, eyes turning pleadingly towards her uncle.

Mother turns to him too, her eyes narrowed. It is clear she does not want his involvement. It is at this time at Lord Jonos takes a hast leave.

Uncle Edmure has mercy on Arya, “It’s true, Cat. Once everything is done she can do as she pleases. I told her to stop going swimming until the issue of the Lannister host was handled and she did. I’m sure she needed time of the Keep after being trapped in it for so long.”

Mother glares at him, “She is nine, Edmure, and a lady at that. She does not need to be riding around unsupervised. I did not send her here for you to make her wilder.”

“Cat-” Edmure starts to protest, but Mother cuts him off.

“We will speak of this later Edmure, I promise you,’ then she turns to Elaenor and Bethany, ‘Girls, go to your rooms, the maids will bring up tubs for you. Once you are finished go to the embroidery room and work, Septa Donyse will look after you.”

“Yes, Lady Catelyn.” The girls say in unison and give curtsies before rushing off, Septa Donyse close behind. Arya cannot even blame them.

Mother then turns to Becca, “Tell the maids to send up baths for all three of the girls.”

“Yes, m’lady.”  As Arya watches Becca rush off, she is starting to feel abandoned. Is no one going to stay who is on her side?

“Catelyn-”

“Not now, Edmure. I will find you this evening, I assure you,’ Mother says giving Edmure a look, before grabbing Arya’s upper arm, ‘First, however, I need to speak with my daughter.”

With that Mother marches Arya away from Uncle Edmure towards the keep. This is totally unfair. Mother exiled Arya to Riverrun. She is the one who told Arya to follow all of Grandfather’s rules, she never said that Arya had follow the rules from Winterfell in Riverrun. Grandfather never made a fuss about Arya going riding or hawking or swimming. He only got mad the one time she left with out saying anything, other than that there had been no problems. Edmure is even looser. Arya can do as she pleases for the most part. After the third moon Grandfather even stopped nagging her into embroidery lessons. Mother is the one who sent her here, if she does like what goes on she has no one but herself to blame.

As Mother walks her to her rooms Arya refuses to look ashamed, even if she feels the sting of embarrassment from the looks of surprised servants and unsurprised lords and ladies. It is embarrassing, though, Arya admits to herself. The chatelain of Riverrun being marched to her room like a child. Now no one will take her seriously.

When they reach her rooms Violet and Tansy are filling up the tub with jugs of hot water, the steam rising from it. Beside them Becca was adding rose petals and sprigs of lavender and mint leaves to the water. Mother must have told her off when Arya had gone riding or seemed intimidating to her. Arya does not really care for flowers in her baths like Mother and Sansa, though she did enjoy the sandalwood and lemon oil that Becca would rub on her afterwards. Apparently no one cared what Arya liked today.

When Becca is done adding plants she comes over to Arya and gives her a tight lipped smile, “Let me help you, m’lday.”

Mother lets go of her arms and Becca helps Arya take of her riding shoes and unlaces the back of her gown before sliding it off. Arya stands in her shift, waiting for Tansy and Violet to finish while Becca put the shoes away and the dress on a chair to be sent to the laundress and Mother still has not said anything. With nothing else to do with her hands Arya takes out the loose braid she had put her hair in after she had gotten out of the water.

Almost a moment later the girls are done filling the bath. “ Leve us.” Mother orders and Becca gives them the gown to take to the laundress before coming over to Arya. Something about Arya ordering the maids around rubs Arya the wrong way. These are Arya’s chambers and those girls listen to her, not Mother. Mother had no say here. Before Becca can even try to help, Arya pulls the shift over her head. She hands it to Becca as she climbs into the tub, sitting on the large sponge that had been left for her at the back of it.

Mother meanwhile is looking about the room. She had not been to it yet, not really. She had seen it briefly before, but for the most part Arya only sees Mother in the more public areas or her solar.

“This was my room.” Mother says, almost to herself, her fingers brushing over the table where the looking glass sits.

“Really?” Arya asks. She knew the room had belonged to someone once, of course, she was just not sure of who. Save for the chambers of the Lord and Lady of Riverrun, all of the chambers looked much the same. There were some differences, of course, like what view you got. Arya’s chambers, or Mother’s, faced the gardens while Elaenor was stuck with the view of the path from the stable to the keep. Some of the rooms for lower nobility were a bit smaller, but she never spent much time there. And despite her begging Becca has not yet allowed her into her chamber yet.

“Yes, with Lysa the next door over.”

“That’s where Bethany stays.” Arya is hoping that Mother sticks to this conversation. If it will get he out of the lecture she is willing to speak as long as Mother wants to. Looking at her face, though, Arya can tell that was not the place to go. Mother no longer looks thoughtful, now her lips are pinched again. She taps lightly on the table before dragging the stool from it, to the side of the tub out of the way enough that she will not get in Becca’s way.

“This wildness must cease, Arya. You do those girls no favor by encouraging willfulness.” Mother says.

“I’m not! Uncle Edmure told you already, its what we do. Elaenor and Bethany still do embroidery. Elaenor practices that harp so much I think her fingers are due to start bleeding.” Arya says angrily.

None of this is her fault. She did everything she needed to before leaving. The meals were arranged with cook, the servant’s quarters were starting to be aired out, she made sure that Lord Bracken had chambers that matched his station as far from Lord Tytos as possible (though Arya had been tempted to tell the man he could sleep in the stables), and the seamstress was almost done tearing apart Lysa’s old mourning dresses and making new ones. Arya felt a bit bad about that, but Uncle Edmure reminded her that she would need new gowns soon anyway as she was a bit taller since coming to Riverrun. So what if she did not like doing the other stuff? Mother told her to help Grandfather and that is what she had done.

“It sounds like you would do well to follow Elaenor’s example. I sent you here to become more lady like, not less.” Mother seems to be saying the last part to herself.

“What is wrong with going for a swim or riding? Dacey would do it.” Arya says.

Dacey Mormont is like one of her heroes come to life. She fights with a sword, but can use a battle axe. She does archery and rides like a man and laughs with the knights and argues with the lords. She wears both gowns a breeches. Arya is pretty sure that if she cannot be Visenya she wants to be Dacey. Arya foggily remembers little Lyanna Mormont and thinks how unfair it is that she should get Dacey while Arya got Sansa. Arya has decided, though, that the first chance she gets to lure Dacey away in private she is going to beg her to spar with her. Using Needles against beams and shadows and knights Arya makes out of bags of flour gets old after a while. She tried giving Nymeria a stick, but Nymeria thought it a different game and raced around with it before bringing it back to Arya to throw. It was a frustrating afternoon to say the lease.

“You are a Stark, not a Mormont. Besides Dacey is a lady, you are a princess. More people will be watching you now.”

“Who care about them? Grandfather says that I have a duty to help my people. Embroidery is not going to help anyone.” Arya says, flicking at the water.

“Clothing needs to be mended, Arya. It is how one takes care of their family.”

“I take care of my family. I run the keep.”

“That is not all there is to it. You need to appear polished for your husband and his family. Do you want him to stray?”

“I don’t care if he strays. Better if he does! He can go off with her and leave me alone.”

Mother looks more frustrated than Arya has seen in a long time. She looks tired too, more tired than Arya has ever seen her. A thought comes to her unbidden; Mother lost Father too. Arya feels a bit guilty at that thought, not enough to feel in the wrong, but guilt all the same. Father would be upset they were fighting and that Arya upset Mother. He also would not have cared that she went swimming. He would care that she did her duty, but other than that he was happy with her. If he was here she would bring him smooth river stones instead of flowers and he would thank her and hug her tight. She has done that for Uncle Edmure, but it is not the same. Uncle Edmure is not her father.

She wants Father. She wants Father more than anything in the entire world.

But the gods took Father.

“What happens, Arya, when your wildness gets back to Walder Frey? What if he breaks your betrothal?”

“Then the stupid gods would finally be doing something good.”

“No,’ Mother gets off of the stool and kneels in front of the tub, clutching at the over cloth, ‘If he breaks your betrothal he might decide our agreement null. We would never had gotten to you if not for House Frey. Do you not want us to get Sansa? Is having fun more important than your sister?”

Arya stares at Mother, hurt rushing through her. That is not fair. Of course she is worried about Sansa, but she had not thought that doing something so simple could hurt Sansa. This feels like when Uncle Edmure was a hostage all over again, but worse.

Arya is trying to hold back tears and Mother’s face goes an odd sort of expression. She reaches as though to stroke Arya’s cheek, but pulls her hand back. Her face is a bit red and Arya is not sure whether or not it is anger or embarrassment.

“We will finish this conversation at another time. Stay in your chamber for the rest of the evening, Arya, and think on your actions.” Mother says as she gets up and then takes her leave.

iii.

Arya waits until after the evening meal to sneak out of her room. Becca, who stayed with her for the majority of the day, had gone to take her own meal and Arya knew she had about and hour before anyone checked on her.

“Stay.” She tells Nymeria.

She walks barefoot along the hall towards the kitchen, the wind cool against her thin shift. She had supper tonight, but she wants to hear what Mother and Uncle Edmure speak about, especially since it concerns her. Uncle Edmure, Arya is sure, will stand up for her.

When she makes it to the kitchen the little scullery maid who sees her looks surprised and is about to call out, but Arya hushes her quickly and hands her a sweet from one of the big tables. Sticking close to the walls she snags one of the candles on the table before heading into the dark of the store rooms.

The store rooms are pitch black. It reminds her of the crypts of Winterfell. Except this has food and not the dead, so why should you be worried? She asks herself. She stays close to the far wall, running her hand along it in the hopes of feeling the opening as it would be hard to see. Alone in the quiet dark, she wishes that she brought Nymeria with her. She told Nymeria to stay in her chambers, since she would be spotted more easily.

Arya nearly falls, when her hands goes from feeling cool stone to nothing. Holding her candle close, Arya making her way up the spiral stairs. They are a bit more narrow than she remembers, but as she goes up she can hear the faint noise of voices. Then she can hear them perfectly and there is a small block of light coming into the passage from the lord’s solar.

“-overreacting.” Uncle Edmure says.

“I am not overreacting, Edmure. I sent her here for her to be a lady, not for you to encourage her wildness.”

“No one is encouraging wildness! She basically runs the castle, Cat. She has the damned keys! I cannot tell the girl to run everything and then tell her that she can’t do anything she finds fun.”

“It is not about fun! Its-”

“I remember you lot going to swim when you were older than Arya.” Uncle Blackfish says, Arya is a bit surprised Mother invited him to be part of the conversation.

“Yes, but I did proper activities as well. I embroidered, I wrote poetry, I prayed in the Sept. There is nothing wrong with riding and what not if you are accomplished in the finer points.”

“Sweet sister,’ Edmure says, exasperation clear in his voice, ‘You sent your daughter into a keep full of men. Who did you think would teach her?”

“The Septa that Father brought here and her companions. There is no reason for this.”

“There is a reason! As long as Arya helps Utherydes and has lessons with Vyman she can, for the most part, do as she pleases because _I_ said so and _Father_ agreed.”

“You are not her parent, Edmure, I am.”

“And yet you sent her here to be raised by us! What did you expect? That we would go by the rules in Winterfell? That we would ask you what should be done? Seven years of writing you over every question? Was that the plan?”

“I expected Father to raise Arya the way he did me. No one told me that he was ill.”

“Cat. He is treating her like he treated you! Her life here seems pretty similar to the one you had.”

“He has a point.” Uncle Blackfish says.

“Enough…,’ Grandfather says, his voice so weak Arya can barely hear him, ‘Arya has…grown so much. Even Utherydes agrees with me…I see no problem…with her life…here.”

“Father, please…” Mother says, but what she is asking Arya cannot tell.

“She is…so like you, Cat. How can you not…see it?”

The conversation has taken a turn to the absurd. When Arya hears the creak of the door she starts to rush towards her room scared that someone had noted her absence.

Grandfather had clearly lost it. She is nothing like Mother, that is Sansa. Both of them so eloquent and beautiful and regal. Both of them are perfect ladies and Arya is simply not. She is nothing like Mother.

The next day she does not go riding or swimming, but she does climb trees with Lyman Darry.

iv.

She stands next to Mother in the Godswood when they crown Robb, they have made an uneasy sort of  peace, if it could be called that. There had been long drawn out arguments about where the coronation should take place. The Northern contingency wanted him crowned in front of the Heart Tree as was tradition, Arya is not sure how they knew what the traditional way to crown a Northern king since Torrhen bent the knee forever ago. The Riverland lords wanted him to be crowned in the Sept in front of the Father. Theon Greyjoy suggested that they crown Robb in a river, similar to how Ironmen coronations went. Both factions told him to shut it.

In the end a compromise was found. Robb would be crowned in the Godswood, but it would be done by Riverrun’s Septon. That way the Old gods and the New would be appeased. Maybe. Arya is not honestly sure why this would work, but no one has been listening to her anyway. Well, maybe Robb has a little bit. When he can find the time. She is not sure how much she likes her older brother turned king sometimes.

On a rare occasion she found him alone, sitting on the little stone bench by the heart tree with Grey Wind at his feet. He looked tired, but them all of them did. The gloom and tension is tiring in Arya never knew existed.

“I thought you were supposed to be in the embroidery room.” He said when he noticed her.

“ I thought you were supposed to be holding a war council.” Arya shot back.

He gave a humorless laugh and shifted over, patting the space beside him. Arya took the invitation and sat next to him. It was rare she got to spend alone time with Robb these days. He is always at council or talking to lords or making war plans or talking about prisoners or talking about terms. He even took to eating with the others lords in the Great Hall for evening meal. Edmure had shifted as well, now that Grandfather’s illness has gotten worse he spends less time in Grandfather’s chambers. Mother comes, though. She and Mother and Grandfather all eat the evening meal together in Grandfather’s chambers, though more nights than naught Grandfather falls asleep before he even finishes his food. She will admit that those meals have helped Arya and Mother a bit, especially when Grandfather is awake. They are still stilted, but it seems to be getting a bit better. Or at least Arya likes to pretend it is.

“Are they still arguing about where to crown you?” Arya asks. The last argument ended up with an axe through a table, much to the ire of Utherydes.

“Aye. No one can agree.”

“You need to be crowned in the Gods Wood.” Arya said.

“You think so? I did not realize you had such an interest in my coronation.”

“It’s what Father wants…would want…would have wanted.” Arya stumbled, the wounds are still fresh there. It has been weeks since the news reached them and it still feels as though it is a cruel joke. One day Father is going to come riding into Riverrun and all will be well.

Robb nodded and put an arm around her, pulling her close. Grieving has not been a part of life as of yet. There is too much to do than to feel the sting of loss and Arya is happy to stall that for as long as possible. She finds a million things to do a day if only not to notice how everything is wrong. For all of the fighting and disagreeing, Arya is happy Mother and Robb are at Riverrun, but they remind her that something is wrong. Mother looks narrow without Father at her side and Robb looks odd with out Jon, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon crowding around him.

“I promise, Arya, we will avenge him. We’ll bring Sansa home too and all will be well. I promise, little sister.”

They sat for a moment in silence. The only noise coming from the rustling of leaves and the twittering of birds.

“Robb, when we go back North can we go see Jon at the wall?”

“Yes. We will go home and then all of us will visit Jon.”

Now as she stands there she thinks that this war cannot end fast enough. She is tired of all of the tenseness and the worry. She wants to go home and see her little brothers and Jon and even Sansa. She will miss Bethany and Elaenor, but she could always write and they can come visit.

Arya wonders if Robb’s crown is heavy. It looks like it might be. The crown is not like the one old King Robert wore, instead of gold it is made of bronze with iron spikes like long swords point up from it and instead of jewels to decorate it there are runes. It looks similar to thee circlet that Arya had been presented with before the coronation.  It is not as rustic as Robb’s crown, but it is not as lavish as the silver circlet with inlaid sapphires that is still sewn into a traveling cloak. Arya’s circlet is made of bronze, but there are pieces of parse and jasper, between the stones are runes that mean…well something. She would have to corner the maester first chance she got in order to find out the meaning.

“I, Robert of House Stark, swear by the Old gods and the New to serve the people of the North and the Riverlands. To guide my country and my people in the light of the faith. I swear to dispense their justice and abide by their laws.” Robb vows. This is his third set of vows now and Arya wonder when this is going to be over.

“Then in the light of the Seven,’ the Septon glances at the Northern contingency, ‘and the…Old gods dub you King Robert. Long may you reign. Long live the king!”

And so her big brother, the boy who used to try to scare Sansa, her, and Bran in the crypts of Winterfell, is King.

v.

It takes her until a week after Robb’s coronation to corner Dacey Mormont. Dacey is usually by Robb’s side acting as friend and advisor. Dacey is very busy and it can be hard to get her attention, but Arya has caught her as she breaks her fast before the others have come in.

“Hello, Dacey.”

“Hello, Arya.” Dacey says and Arya smiles wide. She knew she liked this girl.

“What are you doing this morn?”

“Breaking my fast and then I suppose I am going wherever I am needed.”

“What if I need you?”

“For what?” Dacey asks clearly amused.

“It’s a secret.” Arya says lowly, glancing to where Glover sits not far enough away for her liking.

“I see,’ Dacey smiles conspiratorially, ‘Should your brother have no need of me I will be at your service.”  

“And what are you lot conspiring?” Maege Mormont says, taking a seat next to Arya.

“Arya wanted to know what Robb planned for the day.” Dacey answers, taking a bit of her bacon. Arya follows her lead and fills her plate with bacon and brown bread.

“Council, I should think. The men are getting restless and decisions need to be made,’ Maege says, ‘I do not think he will not have much time today.”

Arya nods, trying to find an excuse. She settles for something close to the truth, “I needed to make sure he and the lords would be out of the way. Bessa wants to clean the chambers, the castle is starting to smell.”

“I see. I’m sure everyone will be out of their chambers.”

Arya nods in response and nibbles at her bacon, while she listens to the Mormont women talk about council. Arya still sometimes listening into council, but she does it less now. It is getting rather boring and Grandfather is caring less and less. She still goes to tell him what is happening in the keep, but much of it is still gossip. Uncle Brynden tells him more of the military news that Arya does not know. More than once she has entered Grandfather’s chambers and found Uncle Blackfish sitting by his bedside. Arya still sits on the side of Grandfather’s bed for the nooning meal, even if Mother hates that, and tells him her news. She is not sure he hears it, but Uncle Blackfish listens to her attentively and sometimes add more information to something she says. While most still call her “little wolf” or “she-wolf”, ever since Uncle Blackfish saw her relaying news to Grandfather he has taken to calling her “little raven”. She is not sure how to feel about that. She is a wolf not a bird, but it is better than being mistaken for a lion.

Arya is starting in one her bread when Bethany and Elaenor show up. Bethany sits next to the newly arrived Lord Tytos while Elaenor takes her place next to Arya. Lord Mooton had been the last to show up and the first to leave. Arya is not sure she can blame him after what happened at Stone Hedge. The villages needed to be rebuilt. Some of the riverlords called him coward when he could not hear. Arya is not sure what to make of that. On the one hand he did not come to relieve the siege even with Elaenor in Riverrun. On the other hand the Lannisters and their lot called Ned Stark a traitor and Arya knew that was not true. Father would never ever betray King Robert. Arya has decided to suspend judgement for Elaenor’s sake.

She and Elaenor are arguing about whether the song _Six Maids in a Pool_ was related to _Seven Swords for Seven Sons_ when Arwyn and White Walda or Walda or whatever she wants to be called enters the hall. Arwyn takes a seat next to some Mallister knight while Walda looks a bit confused. Arya looks at the girl a moment and then looks at Elaenor who looks at her. She knows the look that Elaenor is giving her.

“If she calls me cousin…” Arya mutters to the other girl.

“Then we will set Nymeria on her.” Elaenor whispers back.

“Fine,’ Arya sighs before calling out, “Walda! Walda! There is a place here.”

The girl hesitates for a moment, her pale eyes glancing at where Arwyn is sitting. When it becomes clear that the older girl is occupied, Walda makes her way over to Elaenor and Arya.

“Tell me, Walda,’ Arya says, ‘Do you think the song _Six Maids in a Pool_ is related to _Seven Swords for Seven Sons_?”

Walda stares at her as if she has asked the most insane question. Or maybe she is surprised Arya has decided to speak to her. Arya definitely does not feel guilty about it, not one bit, the feeling in her tummy is from eating too fast.

“It’s six maid, not seven.” Elaenor says, before popping a grape into her mouth.

“So? Maybe one of the sons died or something?”

“That was not in the song.”

“Maybe you are not listening properly.”

“Florian might have been one of the brothers, since one of the six maids in Jonquil.” Walda supplies.

Arya grins and swings her arm in a ta-da motion, “See, El? Do you? How could you not know? I mean Florian and Jonquil were from Maiden Pool.”

Elaenor glares, “How could Florian be one of the seven sons? No one ever mentioned.”

“Mayhap he was bastard born, he was not of noble birth. That was the problem.” Walda supplies.

“Why would they give him a sword then?”

Arya snorts at that, “How else do you expect him to be a knight? A knight without a sword. What use is that?”

Elaenor continues with her oppositions as Mother enters the room. When she sees Wald sitting with she and Elaenor she looks surprised and then pleased. Arya hopes Mother understands what is happening. It is awkward to spend a lot of time with a person you cannot speak to, this is not about liking House Frey or accepting marriage to stupid Elmar. It is about the fact she feels kind of bad for excluding the girl, especially because she seems the shy type, even shier than Bethany. She still does not feel terribly bad about Arwyn.

“If really does not matter when you think about it,’ Arya muses, ‘ _Brave Danny Flint_ is a far better song than either of them.”

“What is _Brave Danny Flint_?” Elaenor asks

Before she can answer Mother cuts in, “It is too early for Danny Flint, Arya. It is not a suitable song as it is. Why not stay with Florian and Jonquil or…”

“ _Lay My Sweet Lass Down in the Grass_ ,” Uncle Edmure supplies from where he sits.

“No, Edmure.”

“ _Bear and the Maiden Fair_.” Patrek Mallister adds.

“ _Megette was a merry maid, a marry maid was she_ ” Marq Piper says.

“ _The Rat cook_ ” Kirth Vance says.

Mother is clearly unamused judging by the way her lips are tightening.

“What happens in _The Bear and the Maiden Fair?_ ’ Arya asks, ‘Does it eat her?”

Some of the men burst into laughter and Marq Piper grins at her, “You could say that, princess.”

She glares at him for the condescension and from using that title. Marq Piper knows how her name and often uses it when speaking to her. He is using her title just to annoy her and it is working. Meanwhile Dacey is choking on the juice she had sipped, Edmure is trying to suppress his laughter, and Maege looks somewhere between amused and exasperated. Mother and Lord Tytos do not look amused in the slightest, actually they look rather angry.

Arya decides it is best to take her leave before Mother starts on a new lecture.

 “If you’ve the time Dacey, come find me in the gardens when your done eating.” She calls out before hurrying out of the hall.

She makes her way to her room where Becca is tiding up. Upon seeing that she stops in her tracks, she had not even thought about Becca.

“And what are you up to?” the older girl asks, hands on her hips and eyebrow raised.

“I need to be alone a minute.”

“For what?”

“For my own business.”

“Is this about the breeches and the little sword?” Becca asks and Arya pales before moving further into her chambers, closing the door tight behind her.

“How do you know?” Arya asks narrowing her eyes.

Becca looks unimpressed, “You do realize I go through your trunks rather regularly? How would I not come across it?”

“You haven’t told Mother.” Arya observes. If Mother knew Needle would already be a in million pieces and those pieces thrown into the Tumblestone never to be seen again.

“No, I haven’t.”

“So what do you want?”

“Hmm…no more whining when I brush out your hair.”

“Fine.”

“No more gaging when cleaning your teeth.”

“But it tastes awful.” Arya says. Every morning Arya scrubbed her teeth with a rough linen cloth that had been covered in a past of powdered charcoal and rosemary stems and crushed mint leaves. After she would rinse with mint and cinnamon steeped vinegar. The taste left a lot to be desired.

“As awful as having your Mother find out about your little sword?”

Arya stares at her maid for a moment before sighing sullenly, “You are a bad person.”

“Mayhap, but my terms make both of our lives easier. Now do we have a deal?”

Arya groans, but too much is at stake for her to test Becca’s resolve, “Fine.”

“Good. Now change and I’ll braid your hair.”

When Arya finally makes it out to the gardens Dacey is already there waiting. She is dressed in breeches, Arya has noticed that she trades gowns and breeches day by day, and Arya is happy to see a blade at her hip.

Dacey for her part looks surprised to see what Arya is wearing. Arya thinks she looks rather okay save for the braid. She had wanted a simple braid, but Becca being Becca did as she pleased. Instead she did a corona braid. When Arya complained about it Becca had pointed out that this way her hair was less likely to be in the way and Arya had to begrudgingly agree.

“Does your mother know about this?” is the first thing out of Dacey’s mouth.

“No. You cannot tell her. Please, Dacey! I’ve never had a proper partner…or teacher, I just watch the men in the yard! I make opponents out of flour! I tried to get Nymeria to help, but…” she glances over to where Nymeria is stalking a squirrel.

“Where di you even get it?” Dacey asks, curiously.

“I…I can’t tell you that.” Arya says. She wants Dacey’s help and her silence, but she cannot tell on Jon. Never Jon.

Dacey watches her for a moment, clearly trying to decide the best course of action. Arya had not thought that Dacey might tell Mother. She thought Dacey would understand and help her. What if she told Robb? Dacey was so loyal to him and they seemed close friends, so she might tell out of loyalty. If she told Robb there was no chance that Robb would not tell Mother. She loves Robb, but he takes his heir-to-Winterfell status way too seriously, she does not think that being Lord of Winterfell has suddenly made him any better. If Arya had to guess it probably made him worse.

“Will you teach me, Dacey?”

“I don’t know, Arya. The sword is not even a Westerosi one, I’ve no clue how to fight with it…”

“You could try, though, right? Please, Dacey, please.” Arya begs.

Dacey let’s out a deep sigh, “There is no talking you out of this,’ Arya shakes her head, ‘Then I suppose, yes. I’ll try to help you, but I can make no promises that I will be much help. How much do you know?”

“I know the important bits.”

“Oh. Like what?”

“Well the most important thing to remember is to stick them with the pointy end.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes:  
> \- At 9 to us Arya is too old to be bathed or dressed/undressed, but in Medieval times that was the status quo. Nobility were bathed by their servants and dressed by their servants. What we believe about privacy today is a very twentieth-century concept. For a long time even baths were shared among friends.   
> -Before the 16th century the public bathed in bath houses, those with enough money had private baths. These tubs would be made out of wood and have a cloth covering the inside of them. In an instruction manual for servants the author advised putting sponges where the noble sat as well as where their feet would be.   
> -Nobility did add herbs to the bath such as lavender, rosemary, and rose petals. They also used oils to smell nice.  
> \- Jasper and parse (the darker versions of Chrysophase) were used in medieval jewelry, as was bronze.   
> \- Medieval people actually did care quite a bit about dental hygiene and would rub pastes on their teeth with rough linen. they would also use mouth washes made of wine or vinegar.


	11. XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are high at Riverrun, Robb sends Cleos Frey as a peace envoy, Arya dreams of wolves, Dacey and Arya train, and Cat and Arya talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody!  
> Quick thing, this chapter pretty much covers Catleyn I in ACoK. I know that Cat leaves for Bitterbridge not long after Robb holds court, but i am dragging that process out. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! As always kudos and comments are always appreciated.

i.

Robb looks uncomfortable with a crown on his head. He sits in the large redwood seat in the Great Hall, with Grey Wind by his side, and with his beard he could almost be a summer king of Old, some son of Garth Greenhand. He keeps fidgeting with his crown, though, and it makes him look younger. Arya can relate. It feels like they all gathered in the Great Hall ages and ages ago. Arya shifts again and rolls her head, her circlet almost clattering to the ground. This is taking forever. When she had been told that Robb was calling for prisoners, she had been rather excited. Finally, he was going to behead the Kingslayer for what he had done to Bran. Arya has not seen the man, but she would all too happily see him dead for what he did to Bran…and for holding Uncle Edmure hostage.

Little did she know that she would be standing in the hall forever. Winter has come and gone and summer has come once again in the time that Arya has been standing  here. At this point she is not even sure why she is here. She could be doing something better. She could be climbing the heart tree with Lyman Darry and show him that she could too climb higher than he. She could be sneaking her horse out for a ride with Nymeria. She could be practicing with Dacey. She could be stealing one of the tarts that Cook said he was going to make. She could be playing with the new puppies that one of the hunting hounds had. She could try to sneak out a hawk with the horse and go hawking. She could be playing cards or in the gardens with Bethany and Elaenor. She could be doing almost anything, and it would all be better than this.

“Why do I have to be here?” she asks Mother as she kicks at a small pebble that made its way inside of the Hall.

“Because it is important. Stop slouching, Arya.” Mother says without even looking at her.

Arya exaggerates her slouch until Mother jabs a finger into her lower back. She holds out for as long as she can, but it is too uncomfortable, so with a sigh she straightens. She is here. Who cares if she slumps or not? Do these people truly have nothing better to do than worry about how she stands? There is a war on, but the biggest issue was how she stood? How stupid. She slouches again the moment Mother is no longer looking.

Even Grey Wind looks bored. Nymeria, the traitor, gave up after the first five minutes of standing here. Next time they had veal or rabbit for dinner Arya is not going to share with the wolf, not even if the wolf gives her those big eyes and nudges her leg. Arya will not give up her food even if the wolf licks her hand. Nymeria can go hunt, as Arya assumes she is now. Arya would like to go hunt too.

Robb fidgets with his crown again and Arya shifts and Mother frowns.  Lord Karstark stands in the corner, Maege fiddles with the edge of her cloak, Uncle Edmure coughs. Time has slowed to a near halt.

Then Grey Wind’s ears picked up and finally there is noise at the heavy doors. Arya stood straighter now, trying to get a look at the Kingslayer. Except this man is not the Kingslayer…unless he had been cursed or Robb beat him that badly or something. Instead flowing golden locks that Sansa had sighed over, there was thin stringy brown hair. Gone were green eyes, replaced by pale watery ones that blinked too often. Gone were the muscles and the arrogance that her Father had clearly disapproved of, replaced by a skinny body and timidity. This is no Kingslayer.

Olyvar Frey does not even react when his cousin (or Arya thinks is his cousin, she honestly cannot keep House Frey straight and does not care enough about any of them to try) is brought forward and shoved to his knees. He does not react when Robb calls for his sword. How could he not react? This was his kin?

Where was the Kingslayer?

Grey Wind must be confused too because he pads forward to sniff at the prisoner. The man is clearly terrified when the wolf comes near. Grey Wind is not close to her, at least not in comparison to Nymeria, but she has never feared him. She remembers when he was just a pup and Father had brought the direwolves home. To her Grey Wind is not beast, he is still the puppy that snuffled and played with his siblings. He is the wolf, who upon his arrival to Riverrun, ran her down and licked her face while she laughed. She sees nothing to be scared of.

She laughs with the others when the man gets up and stumbles away from the wolf. What kind of knight was he? He was captured in battle and feared a wolf, what a coward. Grey Wind loses interest, not that Arya blames him with prey like that, and pads over to her. She does not stumble away from him like the stupid knight, instead she gives the wolf a few pats. She barely has to lean down at all to do that now. Grey Wind lifts a bit to lick her cheek and she laughs, earning a glare from Mother. She pats Grey Wind one more time before he makes his way back to the throne to sit by Robb’s side.

Arya cannot keep her attention on Robb for long. He is just going on and on about the man being more Lannister than Frey, about how sending the man – Cleos apparently – as  a peace envoy or something. Honestly, where is the Kingslayer? Who cares about this on Frey man? There is more of those, Arya knows that for a fact. They are far from a dying breed, in fact they may flourish a bit too much. She knows two Frey maidens, but she hears there are loads more of those too. There are so many of them, so why waste everyone’s time with this one? There must be hundreds of Cleos Freys, but there is only one Jaime Lannister. Only one man who Bran Stark wanted to be and only one man who crippled him. Who cares about this stupid Frey?

She has tried several times to go see the Kingslayer. To ask why he would do that to Bran. To ask why he would crush her little brother’s dreams and then attempt to murder him. Some nights she brings Needle with her, prepared to deliver Northern justice to the man, just as Father would have done if he had been there. She is confident she could do it...well confident she could kill him, cutting off Lannister’s golden head was a different matter. Needle was so skinny she was not sure it would go through the neck, but she could poke him full of holes. Dacey had been showing her where to hit a man to take him down, so she knew exactly where to poke.

Getting up to the man was another matter entirely. So far, she has been unable to get the timing right. Arya is not so stupid as to think that she can lie her way past Ser Robin Ryger to get up to the tower where the Kingslayer is being kept. The man has personally been taking shifts to guard the tower, which seems a bit stupid to Arya. There is a war on, and the man is guarding prisoners...should he not be training the men? They would need to make their way to King’s Landing soon enough and the men need to be prepared. If House Frey produced Cleos Frey then there are surely more like him, they need to be weeded out or properly trained. Also, if Ryger spent more time tiring them out they would probably spend less time trying to interact with her.

Frey men, apparently, have some loyalty to each other for those she has encountered seem to do little else than sing the praises of Elmar Frey.

“Elmar is comely enough, little lady.”

“He’s smart!”

“He is brave.”

“I’m sure he will make you a fine husband, princess.”

The last one to speak of the boy to her had been Olyvar Frey, Robb’s squire, who had nothing but sweet words to speak of his kin. On and on he went. It reminded her vaguely of how Joffrey Baratheon (Joffrey Waters....Joffrey Hill....stupid little worm) spoke of himself while at Winterfell. After trying to ignore the boy for ten minutes she had lost her patience.

“If he is so wonderful, Olyvar, then why don’t you marry him?” she snapped.

Mother had not been pleased. Arya had not cared.

Robb is still talking but has now moved on to terms. He wants Ice and Father’s bones and Northern independence. The men give a cheer at the last part, as does Arya even if she cares more about the bones than who is ruling what. The cheer dies down when the topic of Sansa is brought up. Robb is willing to trade Willem Lannister for her as well as her safe return to the North. Arya wonders when Robb or Mother will send her back North. Sansa gets to go home to Winterfell, why should she not do the same? She would not even need a ship like Sansa, all she needs is a horse.

“Remember, Ser Cleos, this is a peace mission. We need no more war.” Robb says.

That throws Arya off, she had not heard that part before or had not thought of the implication. What did he mean no more war? Sansa coming back was good and Ice coming was good and Father’s bones returning North for burial was good, but what about justice? Joffrey, the little worm, took Father’s head. He held Sansa hostage. He had men lay siege. Men had died because of him. Good, honorable Northern men died, and this was it? Just a few trades and everything was well again? She wants her sister and Ice and what is left of Father, but Arya wants justice. Wants reparations for the wrongs that have been done to them. She wants Joffrey’s and Cersei’s and the King slayer's head. The imp’s as well since it was his dagger that the assassin held according to the raven Mother sent all those moons ago. Myrcella and Tommen...well...they could stay in the Red Keep for all she cared, or go across the Narrow sea or something.

Lord Karstark is shoving his way out of the room and Arya thinks peace angers him too. She knows Lord Karstark, has known him for as long as she could remember. He is a large man, a hard man, and as a little girl Arya had thought him one of the last giants. Old Nan told her stories of giants and Lord Karstark fit the mold with his size and his long beard and hair. Since coming to Riverrun, though, the man looks more man than giant. His skin has gone grey and he has started to shrink. The grief over his losses are palpable even to her. He must want justice as well. Two sons killed and another taken captive. All the more reason for Robb to send for the Kingslayer instead of the younger Frey.

“You said you would avenge Father, you promised!” Arya accuses. Apparently all thought Arya should be there, but not that she should speak. All eyes are on her and Mother is hissing her name, but Robb promised. He _promised._

Robb looks embarrassed, his face is turning red, “Not now, Arya.”

“You said it before the gods, in the garden-”

“Enough, Arya.”

“The Kingslayer crippled Bran, the imp tried to kill him, and Joffrey and Cersei took Father’s head!”

“Enough!’ Rob yells at her, ‘Do you think I do not know that? That I have forgotten? You should be wiser with your words. I am your king and if not for me you would still be under siege!”

Arya glares at him, ignoring Mother’s tugging hands and Grey Wind’s growling, “Father would never have allowed this.”

“Father would be ashamed to see the way you have acted.” Robb says and Grey Wind growls.

Then the stares hit her and Mother’s voice is magnified in her head. It feels likes she is in the embroidery room all over again. She wears she can hear Jeyne Poole giggling in the back of the hall. Sansa never would have called Robb out. Sansa would have stood and listened and may have gently brought it up later. Mother would not be glaring at Sansa and Robb never would have spoken to Sansa in such a way. Arya’s cheeks feel too hot and she feels like she wants to cry and she wants Father, but Father is not here. Instead she wrenches her arm from Mother’s grip, and not even caring to lift her skirts flees from the hall, showing her way through the crowd of lords and squires and knights.

She keeps up speed, not worrying about her circlet or her skirts or her hair or anything that Sansa would have thought about, until she reaches the heavy door that leads into Grandfather’s solar. He spends most of his time in here, these days. Arya pauses before opening the door. Grandfather will be made she opened her mouth in front of the court, even angrier when she says she ran from the hall…but he will probably be even more wroth with Robb. Grandfather spoke about doing ones duty to their people all the time, even now when he was ill. Robb has a duty to her, a duty to his family, to see them avenged. Grandfather would understand that. He would agree with her on the whole if not with her methods. She could work with that.

Arya shoves the door open and slips inside quickly. She does not know if Mother or Uncle Edmure followed. She is surprised to see that Grandfather is not alone. She expected him to be laying on his daybed watching the river, maybe with Maester Vyman with him, instead she sees that Uncle Blackfish is by his side. The older man had been gone for the past few days, acting as a head scout and rider for Robb. He must have just returned.

Before she can figure out somewhere else to go Uncle Blackfish calls out to her, “Hello, child. I thought you were attending court with your mother.”

Arya contemplates leaving, but direwolves don’t run…or at least they do not run often so she stays, “Hello, I was at court, but Robb is breaking his vows.”

“Oh?’ the man asks, sitting a bit straighter in his chair, he gestures to one of the close benches, ‘Come tell us about it.”

Arya plops down on one of the benches, leaning against the wall behind her.

“Robb has sent Cley Frey as a peace envoy to King’s Landing. He says to tell Cersei that there will be peace if she returns Ice and Father’s bones and agrees to let him rule the North. Also he is trading Willem Frey for Sansa.”

“Seems reasonable,’ Uncle Blackfish says before seeing her scowl, ‘You do not approve?”

“No!’ Arya says, her voice raised, ‘He promised in the gardens to avenge Father! He promised and now he is going back on his word.”

Grandfather moans a little and Arya lowers her voice, “He promised.”

Uncle Blackfish is not smiling now, he looks much more serious, “Sometimes it can be hard to keep promises. People usually have the best intentions and then something else comes up.”

“What else could come up?”

“Peace. Think about it,’ he leans over and takes her hand, ‘More men will die before any kind of justice will come, child.”

“He could at least bring the Kingslayer to justice. He crippled Bran!”

“The Kingslayer is more valuable alive than dead. Until Cersei agrees to terms nothing can be done.”

“So that’s it? Bran never walks again? Father is dead? Sansa taken hostage? Riverrun under siege all for nothing? They just get away with it? That’s not justice!”

Uncle Blackfish is grim faced now and is about to say something Arya is sure that she will not like when Mother walks in.

“Cat,” Uncle Blackfish greets her. She looks ready to lecture, but seeing Uncle Blackfish throws her off.

“Hello, Uncle. When did you return?”

“This morning. I have news for, Robb, but I thought it would be best for him to hear it in private. How is he?”

Mother glances at Arya before answering, “Nothing has changed. The Maester gives him tonics to ease the pain and he sleeps.”

“He is forgetting who people are.” Arya adds. It was startling when it first happened and she thinks Uncle Brynden should be warned. Some days he calls Mother Minisa and some days he does not know who Arya is. One day he called her Lyanna and asked if she came with Brandon.

“No, I am Arya, Grandfather. I’m Catelyn’s daughter.” She had told him, but he had already fallen asleep again.

Mother gives a tight lipped smile, “Why don’t we continue this conversation outside, Uncle? I would hear what news has come for Robb.”

Uncle Bryden nods and rises, but Arya remains where she is and he pats her on the head. Mother does not bother her about leaving, for which she is grateful. Grandfather does not know what is happening but if he did Arya knows that he would side with her. He would understand that Robb made a promise and a promise was meant to be kept.

She would make sure not to tell him that she called Robb out in front of the court, though.

Arya dreams she is a wolf. Her bedchambers look a lot smaller in this form, but the fire feels nice. The winds are changing, they come more often now and feel cooler than before. The fire that once had been bothersome now feels rather nice. Still she feels restless.

She gets up from her spot by the fire and paces the room, sniffing. The prey she wants is not here, but it is somewhere near. She can smell it, as clear as she can smell anything else. She pads to the large wood covering and paws at it. Budging at it with her body does not open it and no one comes to open it. She tries using her paw to scratch it open, she has some success. When the wood is loose and she can see the light from the hall, she moves to paw at a different part before she can open the covering. Finally she is able to budge it open and slip out.

She follows the scent through the stone paths. The men in the paths look startled, but do not try to shoo her away. She can smell the fear on them, though, its heady. She can hear the little sounds that come from around her. The hooting of owls and the rustling of leaves in the night, she can hear the men’s sharp intakes of breath as they step away from her. She can hear muffled voices coming from behind closed doors. She has no time for those, she is focused on her goal.

When she comes to the right staircase, two men block her path. They smell different than the usual ones. They are from somewhere else,  somewhere has never been. They get too close and Arya snarls at them, prepared to take one down in order to get passed them. It is not necessary, though, the moment she starts snarling the men back off. She makes her way up the stairs.

Finally she reaches the covering she wants, it looks no different than any of the others. The smell is different, though, this one is familiar. Something she smelled long ago, but the memory of it lingers. She scrapes at the covering, waiting for whoever was inside to open it. No such luck. She tries slamming into it. The covering shakes, but it does not move for her. She tries again snarling. A threat is in there. A danger to the pack is on the other side of the wood and she needs to get to it, needs to stop it before something else happens to the pack.

She scratches and bangs and the covering is almost open when there is shouting. The two scared men from before have gotten their pack members and now Arya feels cornered. The room holding the threat is one of few in the tower, at the very top and now there is no other way to go. She snarls at the men in front of her. They yell at her, but she can still smell their fear.

Arya lungs at the loudest man, nipping at his hand, and he shrinks back with a shriek. She darts around him and races towards her room. When she makes it back she curls up in her place by the fire. Tonight has not gone as planned, but that was alright. There was always tomorrow night.

When Arya wakes in the morning her blankets are on the floor and her pillow is at the other end of the bed. There is a metallic taste in her mouth that makes her think of blood.

iii.

Somehow during the siege when Arya dreamed of being reunited with her family, she had not thought it would be this tense. No one is getting along, not even Mother and Robb. Mother and Arya are still having stilted conversations that could turn into fighting at a single misspoken word. Robb and Arya are still angry at each other for what happened in the Great Hall. Arya is not really sure what the issue between Mother and Robb is, but there definitely is one, even Dacey has noticed it.

“Well, then, what is the problem?” Arya asks, rolling on her back to stare at the red streak in the sky. This has to be the twentieth time Dacey has knocked her over in the past two hours.

“I don’t know all of the details, Arya…”

“But you know some.” Arya accuses. Robb talks to Dacey as much as he speaks to any of his advisors, maybe even a bit more.

“They are just adjusting, it is normal.”

Arya is not so sure about that. Robb and Mother never fought or snipped at each other, if they did it was never in Arya’s hearing. Now they snip at each other almost every day, even Uncle Edmure gets his fair share of glares. In fairness Uncle Edmure is a bit too happy with his new role. Even with the Vances and Marq Piper gone he spends more time with his River lords than with her or Grandfather. Arya is pretty sure he only spends so much time with Mother because Mother makes it a point to be at every meeting and council she knows about. This has not won her any favors with Robb.

“How?”

“Well,’ Dacey pauses pushing a stray lock behind her ear, ‘their relationship changed. You brother is king now, that means he can order anyone he wants around, including your lady mother. Its hard to get used to.”

“When will they be over it?” Arya asks. She is ready for them to be over it. What little progress she makes with mother seems to be lost whenever she and Robb bicker. Apparently the more she loses her grip on Robb, the more she tightens her grip on Arya. It is not an enjoyable experience.

“I don’t know. Soon enough, I should think.”

Arya considers it for a moment, “Mother does not like Theon.”

Dacey releases a sigh at that, “That it part of the problem, yes.”

Arya has grown up with Theon, he came with Father from the Greyjoy Rebellion, he met her the same day Father had. She had not spent much time with him, though. He was older than Jon and Robb, so he did not always play with her and Sansa and baby Bran. She also avoided him because Jon did not like him. If Jon was not fond of him, then Arya had every reason to be weary of him. Arya wonders if Mother would like Theon if she told her that Jon did not. That thought upsets her a bit.

“What has Theon done?”

“I do not know. All I know is that Greyjoy is supposed to go convince his father to join our cause.”

“But they are Greyjoys…Father fought them. They cannot be trusted”

“Honestly, Arya, all houses have fought each other in one way or another. We cannot afford to deny allies based on who has fought who in the past.”

“I guess,’ Arya grumbles and gets up, pointing her sword at Dacey, ‘Again.”

She ends up on the ground for the twenty-second time. This is still better than yesterday when Arya had gone down twenty-five times.

“We had a deal.” Becca grumbles as Arya wrestles in front of the fire with Nymeria.

“I’ve kept my word, Becca, I let you do my hair. You braided it this morning, remember?”

“We agreed that you would let me do your hair and I would not tell your lady mother about that little stick of yours.”

“Aye and you have done it. _Ha!_ ’ Arya gives a triumphant hoot as she wiggles out from Nymeria, to rest gently on top of her. Nymeria is big enough now that Arya does not have to fear crushing her, ‘I have vanquished you, beast!”

“I mean night time as well. If you don’t brush it before you go to bed it is just going to hurt when I brush it out in the morning.”

Her words fall on deaf ears as Nymeria lifts up, forcing Arya to slide off of her before twisting quickly to pin Arya into the myrish rug. She gives a howl of triumph before bathing Arya’s face. Arya laughs as she pushes the wolf’s muzzle away from her. Nymeria is stubborn, though, and gets a few more licks in.

Becca gives a long suffering sigh near the bed. Arya does not think she needs to be so dramatic. Hair is nothing to be so dramatic over.

“Arya,” Mother says and Arya shoves Nymeria off of her to sit up.

Mother stands in the doorway. Her hair is flickering like fire in the candle light, and Arya can see the different colors her hair can turn. Sansa’s hair does that too. Arya’s hair does not change colors. It is brown and remains brown no matter what. Well, it becomes a darker drown when wet but, but brown all the same. The same can be said of her eyes. Arya’s eyes do not change, they are as grey as a northern sky when it snowed. Grey day in and day out, like Father and Jon. Mother’s eyes change colors though, the deep blue of her gown and the firelight makes her eyes go from their usual light blue, to a darker shade like the dove blossoms she brought for Grandfather the day before.

“Hello, Mother,” Arya says while Becca gives a curtsy, ‘Nymeria was pretending to be a giant.”

“I see that,’ Mother says with a small smile stepping further into the chamber, ‘I thought I could help you with your hair tonight.”

That makes Arya pause. She had spent the last fifteen minuets arguing with Becca about brushing her hair out, but it is different with Mother. Mother brushed Sansa’s hair for as long as Arya could remember. She would come to their room before bed and brush Arya’s hair before moving on to Sansa’s. Arya was always happy that Mother had it done with quickly. Then Arya had been moved out of Sansa’s room and into her own. Mother came to brush her hair, but eventually she stopped. She never stopped with Sansa. Mayhap Arya put up a fight one too many times, but something about the situation always rankled. Arya would be sent to bed and Mother would go brush Sansa’s hair. Some nights, when she was little, Old Nan would come and tell her a  story before she went off to sleep. After Rickon was born, though, Old Nan did not have the time as she was needed in the nursery. Sometimes Father would come tell her a story, but that was not often. More often than not Jon would come and tell her a story, sitting with her until she fell asleep. She misses Jon.

She wonders if Mother misses Sansa. She must, sometimes even Arya misses Sansa. Maybe that is why she is here, so she can pretend that Arya is Sansa. She would close her eyes and brush and brush, pretending that the hair she held looked like a bright flame. Pretending that the girl in front of her was humming or singing or telling a love story. Mother would open her eyes and find fine straight brown hair and the girl in front of her could sing no better than she could sew and liked love songs about as much as she liked studying heraldry. Mother would open her eyes and realize this is not the daughter she wants.

Arya shoves these thoughts aside as she stands up. Mother want to spend time with her and Arya is not cruel enough to deny her.

“…Alright.” She agrees, walking over to the little padded bench in front of the looking glass and Becca slips out of the room.

Arya sits down and Mother comes to stand behind her. Mother leans around her to pick up the heavy brush that is sitting in front of the looking glass. Why does this feel so awkward? This is Mother, not some stranger and yet Arya kind of wishes that Becca was doing this instead. She was used to Becca brushing her hair by now, knows how to act, with Mother this is uncharted territory.

When Mother gathers up her hair Arya almost jumps, on edge for some reason. Has she always been so on edge around Mother?

“The gown you wore today was very nice, Arya.” Mother says.

What is Arya supposed to say to that? She is not one to talk of hair and gowns. Elaenor and Bethany like to go on about them sometimes, but Arya is not usually concerned. All she wants is her hair out of her eyes and clothing she is not scared to rip or get dirty. She nods slightly, accidently pulling on her hair.

“Its new,’ Arya explains, ‘they resewed two of Aunt Lysa’s old gowns to make it.”

Mother hums in response, if she is upset about her sister’s childhood gown being torn apart she does not say, “Its another black one. You have been wearing black since we have arrived.”

She has been wearing black since news of Father reached Riverrun. Near two moons of only wearing black.

“For Father.” She explains, not knowing how else to explain. She has never been in mourning before, but she knows you are supposed to wear black. In some ways it is a comfort. Sometimes Arya pretends her black gowns are black armor and she is Lady Danelle Lothstrom and the bat on the Whent pendant she wears is truly a huge bat at her command. She likes to pretend that she has sent it off to grab Cersei and Joffrey and the Imp, that it will squeeze into the tower window and pull Jaime Lannister out of his chambers.

“He would not want you to wear black forever, Arya. He would be sad to see you dress so sadly for the rest of your days.”

“It does not matter what he thinks now.” Arya says without thinking, but the pause in the brush strokes tell Arya that Mother heard. Mother keeps brushing, though.

“We must all stop wearing black, sometime.”

“But what if people think I have stopped caring?”

Now Mother stops brushing and puts her hands on her shoulders, blue meets grey in the looking glass.

“I am not wearing black, Arya. I’ve not worn black. Do you think I do not mourn your father? That I do grieve my own loss?”

“Of course not, Mother!” Arya says surprised. That thought had never even crossed her mind. Of course Mother missed Father! They had been so in love for so long how could Mother not grieve? The only man she had ever loved was gone.

“Then why would anyone judge you for it?” Mother asks, starting to brush again.

Arya shrugs, not having an answer.

“It would make me happy to see you wear color again.”

Oh that’s not even fair.

“What if I do not wish to?”

“I will not force you to, Arya. But if you are doing this for Father, you need to know he would want you to allow a little life back. You play and swim and run, why not add color back as well?”

Because of that, she wants to tell Mother. Because she does go riding and swimming and running and playing that she has to still wear black. If she does not how will anyone know that something is wrong?

“I don’t know.” Arya mutters with a shrug.

“Not all the time, maybe just once or twice.” Mother says, still brushing.

Arya considers it. A transition may be easier. Besides the seamstress finished those reconstructed black gowns and Arya does actually like them, so it would be a waste not to wear them. A war is on, there is no room to waste anything. She supposes adding one or two of her other gowns into the mix would not be terrible.

“I’ll try.” Arya says.

“Good. You said the new gown was Lysa’s resewn?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Do you usually wear your Northern gowns?”

“No, they are too hot. They made some adjustments to some of your old ones for me to wear.”

“Before I go I will ask for you to have some new gowns made. I’m sure there are spare bolts of material somewhere.”

Arya is about to tell Mother that she does not need knew gowns, when her mind registers the first half. _Before I go…_ Before she goes where? Home to the North? Somewhere in the Riverlands? South where Sansa and Father were lost to them?

Arya whips around, not caring as the brush tugged at her hair, “Where are you going?”

Mother looks sad, but resolute. Firmly she turns Arya back around and picks up the brush and continues brushing her hair. At this point Arya has figured out that brushing her hair was more for her Mother’s comfort than Arya’s need. He hair has to be tangle free by now.

“Robb, has asked me to treat with King Renly. I will not be gone long, no more than two moons at most.”

Leaving. Mother is leaving. Again. Another parent going South to treat with a Baratheon king. Will Mother even come back? Arya is still angry over the betrothal to the Frey boy, true, but not angry enough to wish her Mother to go South. Not angry enough to want to be left alone.

“Tell him no,’ she says, almost frantic, ‘Tell Robb you are not going. Tell him that we are going north, not south.”

“Arya, I have to do this…”

“He can send someone else!” now Arya is turning full around and getting on her feet. Nymeria is starting to pace.

Mother takes her shoulders and kneels in front of her, so they are eye to eye, “There is no one else, Arya, I have to do this.”

“No! No, you don’t! Robb can go! Or someone else, anyone else!”

“There is no one else…while I am gone you will watch over your Grandfather and Riverrun for me won’t you?”

It’s too much. It is too _too_ much. All of the sudden she is not in her warm chambers in Riverrun she is outside in the morning sun not far from the trident and the blue eyes in front of her changes to grey eyes, eyes that match her own. Father is kneeling in front of her, hands on her shoulders while she holds back tears and the royal host gets ready to leave. He is smiling at her, almost sadly, and telling her of duty and honor and showing the south what northern girls are made of.

_“Help your Grandfather and your Uncle Edmure. Do all they say and be good.”_

_“I will see you soon, sweet girl, I promise.”_

“ No. No no no no no no no! You’re going to leave me just like him. Your going to leave me here and not come back! _No_.”

Whatever control Arya has over her emotions is gone. Talking is no longer an options, her voice has raised to a yell and she can no longer hold back her tears. It is not pretty crying, not like Sansa would do, it is ugly, Arya is sure of it. Her face scrunches and turns red and she feels tears running down her face and her nose is running. She is not sure if what is coming out of her mouth is coherent thought, but she is pretty sure it is babble by now. All of her words have been reduced to “no” and “please” and little phrases being used in the hopes of convincing Mother to stay or to take Arya go north or do anything but go through with Robb’s stupid plan. Why is he so insistent on ruining everything even more?

Mother takes her in her arms, hushing her and Arya cannot stop crying. She wants to. Desperately wants to stop crying and yelling, but it is like when she went to the Godwood after Father died. She can’t stop crying and there is nothing to hit. Even in her upset she knows better than to strike out at Mother. She would give anything to beat that stupid weirwood tree again. She would like even better to have Robb in front of her. This was all his fault. He could send someone else, anyone else, and Mother could stay here. Or She and Mother could go back to Winterfell. They will take a ship to White Harbor and from there ride back to Winterfell where Bran and Rickon will meet them. All would be well.

She does not get much of that plan out though, instead of her plan she can only choke out, “ I want to go home.”

Mother holds her tighter, “So do I, sweetling, so do I.”

It is drizzly and grey the morning that Mother leaves. Arya stands in the courtyard, as far as Robb as she possible could, and watches as the men load up the supply horses. King Renly’s camp is far away, too far for Arya’s liking. She had looked at the maps in Grandfather’s solar and Maester Vyman showed her where Bitterbridge is. To her surprise it is further south than King’s Landing, this appears to be an awful plan. She has pointed this out to almost anyone who would listen. She has also offered to go.

“I can go too.” She had said at dinner the night before, it was a rare night when she, Mother, Robb, Uncle Edmure, and Uncle Blackfish were eating together.

“No, Arya.” Robb said, taking a bit of brown bread.

“No one even asked you.” Arya shot back. She liked Robb a lot better when he was just her big brother.

Mother sighed and stared into her bowl of stew as if it would have the magic answers. It was pretty obvious that Mother was reluctant to leave. According to knights that she totally was not eaves dropping on there was reason enough for her to worry. Robb planned to march again soon and everyone had a different guess as to where. Some spoke of Harrenhal where Tywin Lannister had taken the castle from Lady Shella, others guessed that he would march to the Red Keep and his peace plan had been a decoy, and others guessed that he planned to march on Casterly Rock. Some seemed more enthusiastic about these plans than others, though the amount of people at Riverrun to give opinions were dwindling. More men left every day, even Bethany had to bid a teary farewell to Lord Blackwood.

Arya turned to Mother fully, “Send me home, I’ll go back to Winterfell.”

“There are no men to spare for that.” Robb said.

“No one is speaking to you, stupid!” Arya yelled, her temper flaring.

“I’m your king, you know!”

“Fine! No one is speaking to you, _your royal stupidness!”_

Mother looked about to yell, or at least give a lecture, but Uncle Edmure beat her to it. Instead of yelling, however, Edmure laughed. He laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes and his face turned red. Both Arya and Robb glared, not they did not find anything funny about the situation. Most of the time Arya enjoyed Uncle Edmure’s easy nature, but at that moment it did nothing but agitate her further.

“Do stop that, Edmure.’ Mother said and then turned to Arya, ‘Arya, you going to Bitterbridge is not an option and there are not enough men to spare for you to go all the way back to Winterfell. Robb, you could be kinder. King you may be, but she is still your sister.”

Neither Arya nor Robb had been particularly happy with this answer. That night Arya did write a letter to Bran and Rickon, mayhap she could not be sent to Winterfell but she could still write them. She wondered if little Rickon remembered her very well, Mother seemed concerned about what Rickon could and could not remember. Maybe Rickon had learned some letters and could write back.

Now, though, as Mother walks over to her even the thought of a raven is not enough to cheer her. Mother kisses her on the head and gives her a tight hug before taking her hand and leading her to where Robb stands surrounded by his lords and Dacey. He gives Mother a kiss on the cheek and allows a quick hug. Mother then takes Arya’s hands as well as Robb’s.

“Be good to each other. You may not be happy with each other right now, but you are still blood. Take care of each other.”

Robb is blushing and Mother squeezes both of their hands before letting go. She hugs Edmure, who looks about as comfortable as Robb, “Watch out for them and yourself, little brother.”

“We will be fine, Cat. You worry like an old fishwife.”

Uncle Blackfish steps forward and gives Mother a hug, “Be safe, little Cat. I will watch out for them.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

Uncle Blackfish helps Mother on to her horse. Mother looks back at them and Robb, to her surprise, puts an arm around her. Mother gives a wave, which Arya tries to return, and then is gone. Gone somewhere south to treat with another Baratheon king.

Robb gives her a squeeze before making his excuses and going off to a war council. That suits Arya well enough today. She tells Elaenor and Bethany that she will meet them in the keep, she does not bother to inform the Frey girls. They will go in whether Arya says to or not, it does not really matter. Walda is not really working out how Arya had hoped. She is too proper and, like her cousin, too worried about knights even though she is Arya’s age. The real issue, honestly, is that the girl is frightfully dull. She likes to talk well enough, but she does not like to _do_ anything. Riding? No. Swimming? No. Hawking? No. House of Fortune? Maybe, but probably not. Searching for herbs and flowers? No. Do almost anything Arya would find amusing? No.

Today, though, this is rather useful. Arya has no intention of being left behind in Riverrun while Mother rides off. She is going to try to meet up with the party heading to Bitterbridge. There will not be enough men for Mother to send her back, so she will have no other choice than to let Arya join her. If she cannot reach the party heading to Bitterbridge then she will head back up to Winterfell. How hard could it be? She will just follow the way the moss is pointing and judge by the sun and she will be home in no time.

The stables are nearly vacant for she and Nymeria, and luckily it does not take much to talk the stable boy into saddling Trout. She does not want to have to ask for him to saddle the horse, but she has tried to saddle Trout on her own and she does not quite have the hang of it yet, so it is a risk she must take. While the boy, Jayson, goes about his work Arya goes to a little nook at the back of the stables. After every meal the day before she would keep a little bit of the food and bring it back to the stable to put in a pouch. She also took a few strips of dry meat and a little jar of honey and pears from the store room, not enough for anyone to miss. She wrapped the pouch in one of her cloaks from Winterfell and shoved it into a corner in the stables.

Arya puts on the cloak and picks up the pouch before walking over to where Jayson stands with Nymeria and Trout. She thanks him and walks Trout out of the stables. She walks the horse slowly to the gate, hoping no one will notice. Mayhap if she goes slow enough no one will see her or think that anything out of the ordinary is happening.

She manages to make it out of the main gates, they have been left open to allow for people coming in and out which was often these days. Mounting up she starts to head south…or she thinks is south. She  looked at the maps with Maester Vyman, but she does not remember how to get there from Riverrun exactly. Judging by the moss she is going the right way.

“The moss is facing the other way, so we are heading south.” She explains to Nymeria.

Ten minuets in she can hear something behind her. Nymeria pauses and looks behind them, sniffing. Arya makes Trout go a little faster. She brought a fruit knife with her, but left Needle behind. She is scared that if Mother sees it she will make Arya get rid of it. Between her knife and Nymeria she should be fine, but the speed is comforting. Whatever is behind her is getting closer and she forces Trout to go faster. She lets the horse gallop through the woods, not as careful about the path now. Branches swipe at her face and cloak. Nymeria is running ahead of her, going faster than Arya thinks she has ever seen her go.

Then, suddenly, Nymeria stops in front of a fallen tree. Arya has always been a confident rider, Father liked to tell people that she rode before she could walk, and is prepared to jump it. Trout has other ideas. Instead of going over the fallen tree the mare rears back, forcing Arya to hold on tight or risk being thrown off. Considering the speed at which they were going, this is no easy feat.

When Trout finally calms, Arya turns her around prepared to face anything. She imagines a pack of wolves or a group of large thugs or maybe even a monster from Old Nan’s stories. She is prepared for nearly anything. Instead of the last giant to walk below the Neck, however, she comes face to face with Uncle Edmure.

“You are quite something on a horse, you know.” He says conversationally.

Arya bites her lip, unsure of what to say.

“And where are you going this dreary day?”

Arya decides to go with the truth.

“I am going to meet Mother at Bitterbridge.”

“I see,’ Uncle Edmure says nodding, ‘did you know you were going the wrong way?”

“I am not! I am going south.”

“Aye, but Bitterbridge is southwest, not a simple line south.”

“I knew that.” Arya lies.

“Of course you did, clever niece. You do realize your mother would send you back.”

“Then I would go back north, to Winterfell.”

“You would have to go through the Neck to do that.”

“So?”

“So you would probably have to go through the Twins and I was under the impression you were not fond of House Frey.”

“I could find a way around.” That is true, when King Robert’s host went through the Neck, they did not stop at the Twins.

“Mayhap. Or mayhap you do not and end up stuck at the Twins.”

Arya makes a face at that, “I will never live at the Twins. No matter what Mother says.”

Edmure nods seriously, “Aye, I figured as much. I am still working on a plan, but I will do my best to make sure you never have to.”

“Truly?” Arya asks, nervous that this is one of Uncle Edmure’s jokes.

“Truly. I’ve no idea what Cat was thinking…but we have time. Something will come to me…maybe you should run off with one of the Blackwood boys or something. Confess your undying love and weep when the time comes.”

Arya crinkles her nose, “Undying love?”

“I don’t know, Arya, you are the maid not me.”

The sit in silence for a moment, the only sound between them is the heavy breathing of the horses and the chirping of birds.

“Do I have to go back to Riverrun?” Arya asks, she knows the answer but it worth asking.

“Aye, but I was going to visit some of the smallfolk today and see how they fare. You are already saddled up, would you like to join me?”

No, she wants to go to Bitterbridge or home…but if she must go back to Riverrun this is better than nothing.

“Alright, Uncle, I will go with you.”

Tonight she will consult Maester Vyman’s maps and figure out a way around the Twins. Tomorrow she will master saddling Trout. The next day she will ride for Winterfell.


	12. XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynden and Maester Vyman talk, Arya tries to go North, Arya and Dacey talk of ethics and Lannisters, and there is word from Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> A few things about this chapter:  
> 1.Something that we have not really had to talk about in past chapters is violence. In this chapter it starts to come up. Violence, especially against the smallfolk, is a part of Arya's canon story and it is going to play a role here. It will not exactly be the same as in canon (obvi), but it'll still be in this story. In this chapter there is a very brief description of sexual assault, it is neither short nor graphic, but just in case there is a "*" at the start and end of the description. 
> 
> 2\. Dacey and Arya talk about Tywin Lannister in this chapter. Since this is from Arya's pov and she is being told by Dacey, these accounts are going to be biased. Same with the way people talk about Ned. These are all biased accounts. 
> 
> I think that's it. Thank you for reading! As always kudos and comments are appreciated!

i.

“He changed it when news of Ser Edmure’s capture reached us. He was more lucid then.”

“I admit that I am not all that surprised. Did he name a regent?”

“Ser Desmond Grell, but I have been trying to speak to Lord Hoster about the matter when he is more present. I believe he has considered you for the position since your return, but the thoughts do not stay long these days.”

“That is to be expected. Seven help us, may nothing ever come of this.”

“Agreed, ser, but war is upon us and we must be prepared.”

“When he is with us once again, I will bring up the matter.”

“A fine plan.”

ii.

She makes it a surprising distance before Uncle Blackfish shows up. It was pretty easy to get the Jayson to saddle her horse as well. Saddling Trout herself has not really worked out, the saddle being too heavy and the horse too high, but convincing Jayson that saddling her horse is a good idea is not difficult at all. Arya has seen the way he looks at Becca when she comes with Arya to the stables and has agreed to pass on a letter for the boy. She has also agreed to put in a good word for him. She planned on making good on that promise. When she got to Winterfell, she would send Becca his letter as well as one of her own saying that Jayson was pretty decent and she could do worse, even if his ears were a bit big.

She had everything ready. She had redone her pack, adding a bit more dried meat and another jar of fruit and honey. She did not take too much though, people in the keep still had to eat and Nymeria could hunt for her. Nymeria would hunt and Arya would cook it. It could not be that hard to start a fire, she had seen Becca and the other maids do it before. She had nicked a piece of flint from the store rooms and put it in her pouch, when the time came, she would strike it against Needle and then there would be sparks and then fire. Cooking it would not be hard either, she had spent enough time in the kitchens to have confidence in herself.

She had packed one of her gowns, but the morning she left she wore her tunic and breeches and riding shoes with needle on her hip. Jayson looked surprised, but Arya had been at Riverrun near a year and he knew better than to comment. He also may not have been able to see her well considering the sun was not quite up when she went to the stables. He had jumped higher than she had ever seen someone jump when she nudged him awake at pointed to where Trout’s saddle was sitting on the ground. That is when negotiations started. She would be sure to inform Becca in her scroll that Jayson haggles like a fishwife.

Still she made it out of the keep just after first light. Convincing the guardsmen to open up the gate had been a bit difficult, though. Still she was known to go for early rides and after a few cajoling words (and maybe a few demands in her impersonation of Mother) they reluctantly allow her to pass. When she gets passed the drawbridge and further into the woods, she brings Trout to a stop. Which way? It has been so long since she made the trip from Winterfell to Riverrun, she does not really remember which route she’d taken. She should remember how to get to the inn at the crossroads and then it is a matter of figuring out how to get from there to Winterfell without having to pass through the Twins. She feels no need to visit the next keep that Mother is trying to banish her to. She could try the Eyrie, but Lysa would probably just send her back. Mayhap she should follow the Blue Fork up to Seagard and buy passage on a ship to Whiteharbor. She is sure she can find some way to be useful, but if she gets there and they do not take her or do not allow Nymeria on board…no, riding is a better option.

She looks at Nymeria for help, starting Trout back up at a slow walk.

“Alright, we looked at all of Maester Vyman’s maps we should know how to get back to Winterfell. We took the King’s Road to get to the inn at the crossroads so we should use it to get back.” Arya tells Nymeria.

Nymeria gives a sneeze that Arya takes as an agreement.

“How do we get to the King’s Road…” Arya muses. She knows that she should be on the River road. When Edmure takes her with him to visit villages sometimes she’ll pay attention to the way they are going or ask about their path. But if Robb sends riders from Riverrun, they would think to start on the River road. She decides to ride for the Red Fork.

“The Red Fork follows the River road doesn’t it? We could just follow the Red Fork to the Trident and take the King’s road from there.” She tells Nymeria.

The wolf blinks at her.

“Do you have a better idea? I showed you the maps.”

Nymeria blinks again. Arya decides that it is in agreement.

“Red Fork it is.” Arya turns Trout in the direction of the part of the Red Fork where she likes to swim with Bethany and Elaenor. From there she would follow it to the Trident.

They would have to pass around the Inn of the Kneeling Man, but that was fine. Arya has no coin with her and does not have anything to sell. Most of the jewels were still hidden in gowns and cloaks and Arya would not have sold them anyway. The only jewelry she has on her is Minisa Whent’s pendant Grandfather had given her. She does not think the pendant would sell for much, besides she would not sell it anyway. Grandfather had given it to her.

Arya had made sure to say goodbye to him before she left. He had been asleep, but she had whispered it just in case. She wishes she had been able to say goodbye to everyone else, especially Uncle Edmure and Uncle Blackfish. Uncle Blackfish is not around much since he scouts for Robb, but she does enjoy when he is around. He is no Uncle Edmure, but he actually listens to what she is saying and makes sure that when he does come to Riverrun that he talks to her. She likes that. She wishes either of them had had the time for his stories, but she had to go home, and he had important duties to attend to. Maybe Uncle Blackfish could come to Winterfell when the war was over and tell his stories to her and Bran and baby Rickon, and Sansa if she is not too grown for them now. She had gotten at least two stories of the Nine Penny Kings out of him that she could share when she got back to Winterfell, though.

She will miss Uncle Blackfish, but it is Uncle Edmure who truly made her pause a moment before riding out. Uncle Edmure was one of the best people in the Westeros, even if he got sullen a bit too easily and made one too many jokes about women. Though he spent a lot less time with Grandfather and a lot more time with Robb and the other lords, he would still make time for her. Just three days past they had spent the entire day at a nearby village, listening to what happened to the smallfolk during the siege and raids. Arya had listened for a time before going off and playing with the children. They had played come-into-my-castle and monsters-and-maidens and Arya impressed with her very accurate dragon impersonation. She also won twice at hide-and-seek. All in all, a very successful trip, though it came with its trials. Uncle Edmure was worried.

“I fear for them, truly. We have walls around Riverrun, but what do they have? Cottages that burn quickly and livestock that can be killed.”

“You have to help them.” Arya had announced. It was the right thing to do, these people needed help. Edmure’s people needed help and it was his duty to protect them.

“I plan to…let me ask you, what would you say if I moved smallfolk into the keep?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I do not think the raids are over. Some of the people living in the village have fled from where they lived before.”

Arya knew that. One young woman around Dacey’s age with a babe, who Arya declared should be named Visenya, had told the story of her flight to Uncle Edmure. She had come from a village near Maidenpool that had been raided. *Her husband had been slaughtered standing between her and one of the Mountain’s Men, giving her just enough time to flee. As she ran with others, she could see women being raped in the streets and houses burning down. Children being shot or cut down by the men as they tried to run. Babes being flung away from their mothers. * The horror went on and on. When the woman got to the part of the story about what she had to do on her way to this village, Uncle Edmure remembered that Arya sat beside him and sent her outside.

“Mayhap I should have sent you outside sooner, but it was an important lesson. Remember Arya, what we feel the smallfolk feel tenfold. In order to hurt us our enemies hurt them, and they do not care if they are men, women, or children.”

“I will remember Uncle.”

“Good. So, we must do what we can to protect them. I have not decided, but it think I may allow them to erect shelters within the walls of Riverrun so they may be protected. They can bring their livestock and try to continue their trade…”

“It is a good idea, Uncle Edmure.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

Uncle Edmure always seemed to value her opinion. Sometimes it was obvious he was simply indulging her, but often he seemed to take her seriously. She liked that. Arya was nearly a woman grown now, she would be ten in a moons time, and it was appreciated that he treated her as such. It was also fun when he did not treat her like the lady of the castle. Sometimes, especially before the siege, Uncle Edmure would find time to spend outside in the gardens with her. He would play monsters-and-maidens with her, and usually Bethany and Elaenor, and come-into-my-castle. Some evenings he would play cards or one of the wooden games with her. She will miss Uncle Edmure, but he could come with the Blackfish to visit Winterfell. Bran and Sansa would like Uncle Edmure as well. The thought that Uncle Edmure might like her siblings more than her comes just as quickly as she banishes it. She’s the one who has helped Uncle Edmure view villages and run the castle, not them. She is the one who waited for him every day on top of the ramparts during the siege, not them. It was she who rushed to him when he returned, not them. Even if Uncle Edmure met the rest he would still choose her.

But-

It does not matter at present. What matters is making it back to Winterfell. She had Trout up to a nice gallop now and focuses on the passing scenery instead of what she is going to miss. It is stupid to think that way. She is going home. Still, when she makes it to her usual swimming spot and follows the river away from Riverrun, her thoughts stray to Elaenor and Bethany. Her friends. Her first friends who were highborn girls. She wants to go home, but even she must admit that the thought of being in the embroidery room with Sansa and Jeyne makes her feel lonely. Granted she did not spend much time in the embroidery room in Riverrun, but she would sometimes play a card game or something while the girls sewed. They would swap stories and jokes and gossip and Septa Donyse would sit near by reading her Seven-Pointed Star. It was much better than pulling at knots while Sansa and Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel giggled at jokes Arya did not get while Septa Mordane went on about how hopeless she was.

She’ll write, them though and explain. Then they can come visit as well and Arya can show them the North. She’ll show them a true Godswood and they can have snow fights and play hide-and-seek in the crypts. She’ll take them to the hot springs, and they can try swimming in the ice melts. It’ll be fun. She’s not sure that she really wants Elaenor and Sansa around each other, especially with Jeyne Poole around, but it is a risk that may be worth taking.

The Frey girls, while not actively malicious, have not done much to endear themselves to her, so they can stay at the Twins. Their relationship shall end here.

Arya is not really sure where they are when she brings Trout to a stop to allow the horse to have some grass and water. Trout is no palfrey and, to Arya’s knowledge, has never been on a long journey. The journey North will be long one, but Arya is sure that if she gives Trout enough rest, they shall be fine. She is not very sure how long is has been either. When she left Riverrun, the sky was still a soft pink, now though the sky is the bright crisp blue she associates with the Riverlands. If she had to guess she’s been riding for two or three hours. Surely, she must be halfway there…if not then she will be spending her first night under the stars near the bank of the Red Fork. That is a thought for when the sun is further west, though.

Arya cups her hands and sips from the river, Trout and Nymeria are not the only ones who are thirsty. As she crouches there, she tries not to think about how her thighs are already thinking about aching. Arya is an apt rider, for as long as she could remember she could ride. She rode with Father to Whiteharbor when she was younger, but she had split her time between the wheelhouse and her pony. When she had travel with King Robert’s host she had been forced into the wheelhouse for the majority of the trip. The longest she ever rode was from the crossroads inn to Riverrun. She could do this, though, she knew she could.

“It will not take too long _._ ” She tells Nymeria, handing the wolf a piece of dried meat. It’s not much, but it is better than nothing and Nymeria seems alright with it. Besides if she gets hungry, she can go off and hunt.

Arya sits next to Nymeria and eats her own piece of dried meat. She is not resorting to cooking just yet, she won't until absolutely necessary. Building a fire now would not be a good idea anyway considering she wants to get moving again. Building a fire brings a whole different round of issues that makes Arya chew her lip. She’s never done it before, but how hard could it be? Harwin and Wyllem built fires while on the road to Riverrun and she had watched them do it, sometimes they would even let her help a bit by gathering sticks. If those two could do it, so could she. There was no need to worry, Arya is completely ready for this trip.

Arya twists blades of grass together, watching as Trout grazes. She wonders what is happening at Riverrun. She thinks that most will have broken their fast by now. Mayhap Robb is holding court or sitting at the war council, Uncle Edmure and Uncle Blackfish are probably with him. The girls are heading to the embroidery room, though Elaenor is more likely to playing her harp than sewing. She wonders if someone has figured out that she has gone. Becca probably has, but she is used to Arya wandering off. Septa Donyse may have, but she too is used to Arya disappearing and reappearing. The only thing different today is that Arya left earlier and went alone. Even if no one has noticed or thought anything of it, that works well for Arya. With any luck she will be far ahead of them.

At Winterfell Father did not usually send people to look for her when she played outside until the evening came, once the sun started to set he would have men go and collect whichever children were not in the keep. She would guess that no one will truly worry until evening either. Maybe a bit sooner since she went alone, but not soon enough to catch up. They will worry though, Arya knows. She’ll send a letter to Uncle Edmure and Grandfather and Uncle Blackfish when she makes it back to Winterfell to tell them she made it there safely. She would tell them that she was sorry for making them worry, but it had to be done. It was time she went back North.

She is about to go retrieve Trout from where he grazes, when Nymeria suddenly stands up from where she was lounging near the water. Moments later Trout apparently sense something as well as his head lifts and his ears are perked, listening. Arya grabs the hilt of Needle. This is not like when she tried to follow Mother. She had gone without much thought, but now she is ready. She is competent enough with Needle that she knows she can take down anything. Even a bear…or ten bears…or snark…are there shadow cats in the Riverlands? Doesn’t matter, she’ll be fine. She has Flint blood in her, she is the namesake of a Flint and House Flint is known for taking down shadowcats. Shadowcat hunting is in her blood.

Instead of a shadowcat or a bear, it is Grey Wind who bursts through the trees. Trout, though used to Nymeria, is not used to Grey Wind and flees. As soon as Trout takes off, Nymeria takes off after her leaving Arya with her brother’s direwolf. Grey Wind walks closer to her sniffing, growling lowly.

Arya stands her ground. She is not going to be frightened of this wolf like Carl Frey. She is a Stark and thus a wolf as well. Wolves need not fear wolves. “Bad wolf. You scared Trout.” Arya glares. Hopefully Nymeria took off to herd the horse back instead of eating it.

To her surprise, though maybe she shouldn’t be that surprised, Robb bursts through the trees. He’s going so fast that he bursts past she and Ghost and has to get the horse to turn around. When he gets back to where she and Grey Wind stand, he is off the horse before the horse is fully stopped.

“You better not let that horse run or else you will be walking back to Riverrun. Grey Wind spooked Trout.” She says, giving the direwolf a glare. When he growls in response, she flicks him on the nose.

“What is the name of the old gods and the new is wrong with you, huh?’ Robb demands, bending to her level and taking her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly, ‘Do you know how badly you’ve scared everyone? How badly you scared me?”

He looks so upset that her tummy starts to tighten and she tries to stop herself from biting her lip. She should not feel bad about this. She will not feel bad about this. She told him she wanted to go home, has told everyone she wants to go home. Instead of sending her home, however, he sent Mother away. This was partly his fault. Truly it was. It honestly was. It has to be.

“I’m going home.” She informs him, no ready to give up on her goal.

Robb stares at her, as if trying to understand what she is saying. Honestly he should not be looking at her as if she has grown three heads, this is not a hard idea.

“You cannot just go running off in the middle of a war, Arya!”

“I want to go home.” She replies, she means to say it loudly, defiantly, but it comes out quiet. More the voice of a little girl than a wolf. She hates that voice.

Robb stares at her again before closing his eyes and sighing, taking her in his arms, “I know. I want to go home too. I want to go home too. Do you think I like being trapped in the south any more than you do? I want to go see Bran and Rickon, I want to see the Godswood again. I wish I was at Winterfell too. But we have to finish what we started. We have to get Sansa back first. We have to get Lord Tywin out of the Riverlands.”

Arya does not really know what to say to that. There is no argument she can make that has not been made before. The best argument would be that he could simply send her back, but they have been over that. Every man counts now, there are not enough men that can be spared to get her to Winterfell.

“I could go, though.”

“There are not en-”

“I could get there by myself.”

“I’m not about to allow my nine-”

Arya pulls away, “I’ll be ten next moon!”

Robb gives her a smile and grabs her hands, “My almost ten year old little sister to travel half way across Westeros by herself. Father’s spirit would never give me a moments rest, Mother would have my head, and there is no telling what Jon would do.”

“I can defend myself though! Nymeria is with me and Dacey taught me h-” She had released his hand to grab her sword and was holding Needle out in her excitement to convince Robb, not thinking about whether or not he would be upset. She was supposed to keep this to herself. Arya’s eyes go from Needle to Robb and back again.

“Dacey gave you this?’ Robb asks confused, taking the thin sword from her, she tenses scared he is going to snap it, ‘No, this is Micken’s work. How did you get this?”

Arya remains silent. Needle was something between she and Jon. Robb could tell Mother and Mother blames Jon for enough, though he is at the Wall now. Mother could make it that Arya never gets to see Jon again. Arya would not stand for that.

Robb seems to know with out her answering, though, “Jon. Dacey has been teaching you how to use it?”

“I asked her too! I annoyed her into it! I was just tired of trying to spar with my shadow or Nymeria or ser flour.”

Robb looks at Needle with consideration before handing it back to her, “I’m not going to take it from you, Arya. Better for you to know how to use it in times like these.”

“Are you going to tell Mother?”

“No, I will not. I am going to ask something of you in return, though.”

“What?” Arya asks apprehensively.

“Give me a chance. Let me get Sansa back and Lord Tywin out of Harrenhal and then we will all go back to Winterfell. I promise you, we will all go back.”

“Like you promised to avenge Father?” she asks skeptically.

“How often do I break my promises to you?”

Shrug.

“I had to understand that there were more important things that vengeance, Arya. This promise is one I can keep. You keep Needle, train with Dacey, and I will not tell Mother. In return you give me time to get use back to Winterfell.”

“How long?” she asks, apprehensively.

“Less than a year. I sear by the old gods and the new.” Robb says, seriously.

Arya considers. There are few options left to her. At least this way she is assured that once the war is over she will go home. She wont be sent directly to the Twins or left alone in the Riverlands again. Less than a year. She could try to last less than a year and in the mean time she would still try to convince Mother or Robb to send her home ahead of them. It is not ideal, but she thinks this might be the best she gets.

She nods, “Alright. Less than a year.”

“I wont let you down, little sister.”

iii.

“You are all leaving again.” Arya tells Dacey, as she slips around the taller girl. From Dacey she has learned something that she never learned from the men: the gift of being small. Arya is eagerly awaiting her growing period, like Robb and Sansa had. Sansa was only two years older, but she stood a bit too tall in comparison to Arya. She cannot wait to be bigger like her elder siblings. Still her size means that she has an easier time dodging or slipping around an enemy.

Dacey turns to her and lower her sword. Her face tells Arya all she needs to know. The lords who are still at Riverrun have been getting restless. When Arya watch the men train, she notices there is a tension and jittery-ness that had not been there before. They looked like animals in cages. Then, suddenly, their movements ease and the tension within the keep breaks. In its place is a buzzing type of excitement. Arya had heard enough arguments about marching or not marching and where to march that she had a feeling what the change in mood was.

“There is talk of it.” Dacey says.

“Where are you going?”

“That is still being decided.”

“Harrenhal?”

“No. That would be foolish. It’s too well fortified.”

“King’s Landing?”

Dacey gives her a smile, “Your brother is far too honorable to go attack a city before the peace envoy has even returned. He is no Lannister.”

“A Lannister would do that?” Arya feels stupid for asking as soon as it is out of her mouth. Of course they would. Cersei Lannister and her spawn took Father’s head for no reason. Tyrion Lannister tried to kill Bran. Jaime Lannister succeeded in crippling Bran as well as held Riverrun under siege. He also had the nerve to be kept in chambers that were hard to access. The man is determined to be rotten at literally everything.

Dacey sobers. Her smile turns grim, she takes a knee in front of Arya and puts a hand on her shoulder, “The Lannisters have no honor, they know nothing but cruelty. Have you ever heard of the Rains of Castamere?”

Arya shakes her head.

“When Lord Tywin was younger, and his father still lived house Castamere rebelled. They saw no different between the Lannisters and themselves and so they no longer wished to be seen as lesser than. Lord Tywin crushed the rebels, more than that he killed the whole house. No one survived the purging of Castamere, neither woman nor child or even the old. He just killed them all. Never underestimate what any of these Lions will do.”

Arya nods, considering, “Is it like putting a village to the sword?”

“Aye, a bit like that.”

“Grandfather says sometimes we have to do that, in order to make a point. He said it was for the greater good. Did Lord Tywin put them to the sword for the greater good?”

Dacey looks conflicted and it is clear that she is trying to find the words to say. It also becomes clear that they were not having this conversation. But Dacey is not one to just drop a conversation. Dacey is also a big sister. That means she is not going to leave Arya with questions without trying to answer them. Arya is sure that Dacey would do the same for her little sisters.

“War makes monsters of us all, it is true, but one needs to fight against that. I kill men in battle, I execute them when they break the law, but I do not slaughter people to make a point.”

“But Gran-”

“I know what your Grandfather said, Arya, but sometimes people get it wrong. They have the best intentions, but they get it wrong. I see no point in killing innocents for crimes they did not commit. You do not have to agree with me, but it is something to think about.”

“Do you think Father ever put a house or village to the sword?” Arya asks chewing her lip.

“To my knowledge he did not. Eddard Stark was an honorable man. He believed in mercy, from what Mother told me he was one of the few to ever want the Mountain to answer for his crimes against Princess Elia and her babes. Remember your Father was the one to kill Arthur Dayne, but he was also the one to return his great sword to Starfall.”

Arya nods. Some of this is news to her. Even the story of Queen Elia and her children is foreign to her. When Father told her the story of Aunt Lyanna he mentioned the princess and her children but never what happened to them, he never mentioned them at any length. In Arya’s mind they were in the story until they were not. Not that he told the story often, mind you, but he told when she asked where the aunt he spoke of was.

“What happened to Princess Elia?” Arya asks.

Now Dacey looks very uncomfortable, the ‘something bad’ does not even need to be said. Dacey licks her lips, her eyes glancing around Arya as if trying to find a way out. When she does not find one, she looks resigned to her fate.

“Lord Tywin did to her and her children what he did to House Castamere,’ Dacey says it quickly before gathering her courage and looking the younger girl in the eye, ‘You need to understand that Tywin Lannister does not care for women or children or smallfolk, he cares about power.  He cares about winning. You never ever underestimate him or his men. Do you understand me?”

“I understand.”

Somehow getting more answers has left her with questions. Father did not believe putting villages to the sword or decimating entire houses. Tywin Lannister not only destroyed houses and put villages to the sword but killed a princess and her babes. Grandfather who had told her stories and helped her make up with Elaenor and gave her Minisa Whent’s pendant, believed in putting villages to the sword in order to prove a point, for the greater good. Grandfather was not anything like Tywin Lannister. Grandfather raised Mother and Mother was nothing like Cersei Lannister, so they could not be that similar. Grandfather raised Uncle Edmure and Uncle Edmure was nothing like the Kingslayer or Tyrion Lannister. They had to be different.

But does that mean that Grandfather was more like Lord Tywin than Father? Does it matter?

Arya, being nearly ten and having no answers to topics she probably should not be talking about, thwaps Dacey on the knee with Needle. She much rather prefers sparring than talking about things that happened long ago. Besides the Lannisters are far away, waiting to be defeated by Robb, and she is in Riverrun.

Why should she ever have to truly worry about Lord Tywin?

iv. 

It is raining the morning when the War Council finally decides where they are going. It has been raining the last four days. Although Arya prefers sunny days or cold snow, she does enjoy splashing in the puddles. She enjoys standing at the doorway to the garden with Elaenor and Bethany and playing push-out. Elaenor is not fond of this game at all. Last time she was pushed out, her foot snagged on her gown and she fell leaving her muddy. Arya found this amusing while Elaenor did not. In the name of solidarity Arya threw herself to the ground, much to the amusement of Bethany and to the horror of Septa Donyse and Becca. It felt nice, though, the rain falling on her face and the wet grass under her.

Now, though, she is stuck inside. She stabs at the sausage in her trencher, wishing she could practice with Dacey in the yard instead of sitting in the dining hall. Besides if she was in the yard with Dacey things would not seem so glum. Between the rain and the talk of marching the anticipation has changed from something exciting to something foreboding. Arya personally is just confused.

“What is the point of marching West if you sent that Frey-”

“Lannister.” Robb interrupts. Which is odd considering whenever she does it he always sighs or rolls his eyes or something.

“Whatever. You sent a peace envoy, but you plan to march.”

“Lord Tywin is amassing a host at Harrenhal and does not appear to have plans to leave any time soon. We need to draw him out.”

“Shouldn’t he leave if there is peace?”

“Mayhap, but he might not. We will all feel better when he has gone back west.”

Arya has nothing to add to that. She’s still not sure how this would work. She does know they cannot march on Harrenhal, she remembers Old Nan’s stories and they have no dragons, but she is not sure why this plan would work either.

She watches unimpressed as Arwyn tries and fails to capture Robb’s attention. Arwyn does not have much interest in Arya, but she is sure interested in Robb. On a rare occasion that Walda had joined she, Elaenor, and Bethany for a game, Arya had asked if the girl knew why. Apparently Robb had his pick of Frey maidens to be his queen, he could have any one of them that he wanted. Even Walda liked to sing the praises of Robb, Elaenor also found him rather handsome. Golden Marq Pyper has been pushed aside for Robb. Bethany still holds affection Alyn Haigh.

Arya thinks that it is all rather stupid. Robb is Arya’s elder brother and she loves him, admires him, but she’s not sure that all of this new female attention was wholly warranted. Or maybe she is just annoyed that her brother’s marriage is starting to affect her life. It would be great if Elaenor would stop giggling at some joke Robb made when Arya is trying to talk to her. Besides if Robb is going to break his betrothal it is going to be for Dacey. Arya has already decided upon that. She is determined that she could get Robb to fall for Dacey. Who would not fall for her? The hard part would be getting Robb to break the oath…but he did not vow anything did he? Mother made the arrangements, not Robb.

“When do you leave?”

“The men have been getting ready to leave for days now, if not tomorrow then we should be able to leave the next day.”

Arya chew her lip.

“Can you not wait?” she asks before she can stop herself.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For Mother to return?”

Robb lets out a sigh that makes him sound more like an old man than a boy of ten and five. She looks him in the eye, even though part of her wishes to look away. She does not really like the softness in those eyes, does not like that he seems to understand what her problem is. He cannot know, though, not truly. He has never waited for people to return who never would. She did not collect flowers and smooth stones to send to someone who could no longer receive them. He never sent an uncle off to battle, only for him to be captured. Robb has never been sent off to some strange place with people he had never known.

“Would that I could, little sister, but we need to make Lord Tywin leave the Riverlands. As long as he sits in Harrenhal we are all in danger.”

“All he is doing is sitting, though.”

“We do not know how long he will do that. We need to be proactive.”

“Who are you taking with you?”

“Most of the men. Dacey, Maege, and Uncle Brynden shall come with me as well.”

Arya frowns at that. Not only is Robb leaving he is taking everyone with him. That is not fair at all. What is she supposed to do with all of them gone? Who is she supposed to spar with or talk with or joke with? Arya already feels a sense of loneliness.

“You could leave someone behind, though. Dacey could stay!”

“No, I need Dacey. She is strong fighter and a strategist.”

Arya cannot help but glare at him. How unfair could he be? First he was going to leave her all alone. Then he is going to take Dacey. What next does he plan to do? Snap Needle? Light the gardens of Riverrun ablaze? It is not so unreasonable to ask him to wait until Mother returns or to leave Dacey behind.    

“Who am I supposed to spa- learn from?” Arya demands.

Robb studies her, munching on a sausage. The new beard is growing in, making her think of Uncle Edmure. Robb’s beard is a bit patchier than Uncle Edmure’s, though.

“I’ll talk to Uncle Edmure, but we should not be gone long. We have faced forces from the Westerlands once, we can do it again.”

“I could take forever.” Arya groans, laying her head against the table. Somewhere behind her Septa Donyse is tsking.

“Not forever. Less than a year, remember?”

“So you say.”

“It has not been a full moon yet, Arya, you cannot have lost faith in me already.” Robb laughs.

“I haven’t.” Arya says. She truly has not. Robb in the best fighter in Westeros, well maybe second best because of Jon, there is no way that he could ever lose.

v.

_Arya,_

_Winterfell is fine. Maester Luwin has been helping me to act as the Stark of Winterfell. I would rather be climbing. Some good news is that we had a good harvest feast. I have never seen so much food in my life. You should have seen it, Arya! There was boar and beef and chickens, even lamb. You would love the desserts. Even the Frey boys could not ruin the feast. Black Walder and Little Walder have become Rickon’s steadfast companions. Do not feel for me, though, for Meera and Jojen Reed have come to Winterfell. You would like Meera. She hunts frogs with a spear and is quick to run and play. When you return to Winterfell you will meet them._

_Your brother,_

_Bran_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The food Bran mentions at the Harvest feast are taken from medieval foods eaten by the Vikings. Some specific ones that are referenced are lamb sausage, harvest bread, and pancakes marinated in mead


	13. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya turns ten, the smallfolk move in, Cleos Frey return, and men try to get Jaime out of Riverrun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Two quick things:  
> 1\. We get some violence in this chapter. After this chapter i'm going to stop doing special warnings for unless its like really graphic or seems like something i should warn about (like assault). Going forward just expect most chapters to have some mention or form of canon!typical violence.  
> 2\. I play around with some religious world-building in this. I push religion a bit more to the foreground, where in the books it is kind of in the background. It will not play a large role every chapter, but in this one with Arya turning ten and the Silent sisters showing up and other stuff happening it does. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated (i like talking with you guys)!

i.

“Do you truly think that Lord Stannis and King Renly can come to an agreement, Lady Catelyn?”

“They are brothers, Brienne, that must count for something. Do you have siblings?”

“No, my lady.”

“I have two younger siblings and five children. If I know one thing it is that siblings should be able to work things out. Especially when war is involved.”

ii.

Arya turns ten three days after Robb leaves. It is hard not to have Mother and Robb around to congratulate her. She tries her best not to think about. Namedays at Winterfell were not extravagant, no tourneys were held in anyone’s honor, but there was a small feast held in Father’s solar and presents were given. Arya’s ninth nameday was a week before the royal host arrived, but Father and Mother still made time to celebrate. Mother had given her a newly embroidered gown, to be worn when the king arrived, and Father gave her a carved and painted knight and horse. Even though they were trying to make sure there was enough food for the royal host Mother still had the cooks prepare some of Arya’s favorite food for the evening meal.   

She does not know what to expect from a nameday in Riverrun. Before the war started Arya would have expected a great many things. Grandfather would probably give her some tome of history or something, Uncle Edmure would take her to the Lord Harroway’s town, maybe even Mother and Father would come to see her. Things are different now. Uncle Edmure is busy putting his plan of housing the smallfolk into place, Grandfather sleeps most of the time and sometimes even when he wakes, he dreams, and Mother is far away at Bitterbridge. A nameday seems like an inconvenience at this point, to Arya it is still a marvel. She is officially an older girl now. Elaenor can no longer truly argue seniority, she still has two moons before she turns ten and two. Sansa’s has already passed. Her tummy twists uncomfortably at the thought of Sansa, her sister who is already ten and two. Robb would get Sansa, or the Queen would send her back in the name of peace. Then when she returned, they could have a joint celebration, since Mother was not here for hers anyway.   

Septa Donyse is here, though, and someone has informed her that it is Arya’s nameday. Arya guesses that Mother told her the day before she left. As Arya kneels in front of the Maiden, she almost wishes Mother had not told. When she had gotten up this morn, she had told Becca she wanted one of her rougher looking gowns. Today was Arya’s day and she was determined to be outside for it. Maybe even entice the girls into a swim. Instead Becca had presented her with an ivory gown of summer silk.   

“Your Lady Mother had it made for you.”   

“What for?” Arya asked, confused.   

“It’s like Maiden’s Day, almost. You go to the Sept and kneel in front of the Maiden to pray and receive a blessing from the Septon.”   

Arya scrunched her nose, “What would I pray for?”  

“For her to guide you in this new stage of your life. Meanwhile your Septa and I shall be praying to the Mother for patience in dealing with you.” Becca said, the last part being only a half-truth.   

Arya looked wearily at the gown. The material was fine and the color light. She was going to ruin it before she even stepped outside to walk to the Sept. More importantly she did not want to be stuck in the Sept. Somehow, thought, between Becca and Septa Donyse she ends up there, gown on and a crown of daisies on her head, before she has even broken her fast. This is not how her nameday was supposed to go. If Arya prays for anything it is for this to be over soon.   

She can hear Elaenor shift behind her and takes some comfort in the fact that the boredom was probably useful. As maidens of a similar age Elaenor and Arywn had gone as well, though their gowns were not the same ivory of Arya’s. All three of them had laid flowers and lit candles at the feet of the Maiden after the Septon gave Arya a blessing. Arywn, as the oldest, had gone first, and placed a small bouquet fresh heather at the Maiden’s feet before going to kneel on one of the cushions that had been laid out for them. Elaenor had gone next with her bouquet of violets, she slightly bumped into Arya while she made her way up to the painting and gave a quick wink when Arya looked at her. Arya was the last to go, with a space in the middle left for her. She placed her bundle of lilies at the feet of the maiden before going to her cushion between the girls.   

Arya does not pray, not really. She has never been good at praying in the Sept, preferring the Norther way of praying. Father used to say that she and Bran climbing the heart tree was their own way of praying. There are no trees in here to climb though, only the painting of the Seven to look at. Arya amuses herself by counting the rainbows on the wall. She is up to about fifty when a bird cuts off her count. The septon is still droning on and on about the maiden and purity and innocence and growth. Arwyn lets out a sneeze. Elaenor shifts her weight again, the way she kneels is always so rigid, it must be uncomfortable. Arya is back up to fifteen. Arwyn sneezes again. A bird makes the rainbows shift. The Septon is still droning on.   

“How was it?” Bethany asks, perched on the edge of Arya’s bed. After the Septon stopped with his lecture, she had been allowed to change. As predicted that hem of her gown did get dirty, though not terribly so, just enough to make Becca grumble about it. Arya makes sure to let everyone know that  _she_   _knew_ this was going to happen and that ivory gowns were stupid. Of course, they were going to get dirty.  

“Boring.” Arya tells her honestly.   

“What did you pray for?”  

“For the stupid bird outside to stop throwing off my count. Becca, though, is pretty devout. Ask her.”   

“What did you pray for, Becca?” Bethany asks, curious. As the only girl in her family she has never been a part of a nameday celebration, so she is curious.   

Arya remembers being kind of curious when Sansa turned ten. Mother had given Sansa a gown of ivory velvet, lined with grey fur around the collar. Jeyne Poole had been the only other Winterfell maiden old enough to go along, so Arya and Beth Cassell had stayed behind. Arya had been curious, but not upset when Mother only took Sansa and Jeyne to the Sept. Arya was not fond of it. She did ask Sansa what happened, but before she could answer Jeyne Poole had said that Arya was too much of a  _baby_ to be told. Later that night, though, Sansa did tell her. She said it had been wonderful. Arya thought it sounded boring and now that she has done it, she has been proven correct.   

Becca finished tying up Arya’s gown, one of the old red ones which Eleanor had recently embroidered wolves on to. Elaenor can embroider almost as well as Sansa, but the wolves look a bit wompy. She is much better with flowers, but Arya appreciates the effort. She knows better than to the point out any of the flaws.   

“I prayed for the Mother to grant me the patience to deal with this one,’ Becca gives Arya’s head a playful tap, ‘and for the Crone to grant you lot some common sense.”   

Bethany considers this and seems satisfied with the answer. Then she turns to Elaenor, “And what did you pray for?”   

“I prayed for the Maiden to keep all of use safe, for the war to be over, and to grant Arya wisdom as she grows.”  

Arya laughs, “Liar! You were praying for the Septon to stop speaking so you could stop kneeling.”  

“I was not! Some of us actually like the sermons.” Elaenor huffs indignantly.   

“Sure, you do. The rustling behind me was a mouse, then. Must be a rather fierce one for all that noise.”  

“It was Arwyn.”  

“Oh, that’s low, even for you.”  

“It  _was._ ” 

“So, you were the one sneezing then?” 

“That was Arwyn too.” 

“Do you remember the sept being very echo-y?” Arya asks, spinning to look at Bethany.

“Mmmm…no, not very.” Bethany says, shaking her head. The wide grin on her face says she knows where Arya is going with this.

“So Arwyn must have been making a lot of noise for me to hear her shifting coming from my right. I know she is tall, but I did not think her that tall.”

Her name day is a good one. She spends it doing as she pleases for the most part. There is no one to practice Needle with, but she still enjoys spending the days with the girls. Her days are always too full of responsibilities. Too full of answering questions and trying to help. Today, though, she gets to enjoy herself. She proves once again who the superior horse rider is and Elaenor gets lucky and manages to hold her breathe longer.

That evening proves to be good as well. Before the evening meal Becca bullies her into putting the ivory gown again, much to Arya’s confusion. Arya feels her face go hot when she steps into the great hall and realizes that Uncle Edmure had decided to hold a nameday feast. Even the dour Utherydes does not seem to have a problem with it.

The harvest has coincided with Arya’s nameday making for a bountiful feast. All of Arya’s favorites are there along with some she has never tried. She and Elaenor barter with each other for berries and marzipan There is music and dancing and Arya thinks Sansa would have loved this. Uncle Edmure tries to teach her a fast Riverlands dance, but she ends up just spinning round and round with Bethany while Elaenor and Arwyn attempt to gain dances with Marq Pyper. There are few ladies at Riverrun, so he dances with each of them at least three times.

By the end of the night, Arya has managed to dribble the watered down wine she had been given on to her ivory gown and stepped on the hem more than once. If Septa Mordane or Mother saw this, she would never have heard the end of it. But they are not there and she does not really care how a gown she will grow out of looks. It has been a good day and good night and she is not going to let some dress spoil her night. No one else seems to care either, so all in all it has been a good nameday.

She just has to be sure not to think about how Father is dead, Mother is at Bitterbridge, Sansa is a captive, and Robb is waging war in the Crownlands. For tonight she just wants to pretend everything is going to be alright.

iii.

Arya is ten and a week and a half and the smallfolk are starting to move in to the yard. They do not live inside the keep, Uncle Edmure thought that would be too much, but have started to build shelters in the yard and against the keep. Pens are also starting to be created near the stables. The smallfolk have brought their animals with them; cattle and sheep and chickens and donkeys. Some have brought what is left of the harvest with them as well. Arya has been tasked with helping Utherydes to count all of the grains and distribute it amongst the people. They can not feed all of them from Riverrun’s stores so it is expected that the grains brought in will be distributed amongst the people staying within the walls. Some have been more cooperative than others, but on the whole there was have been few problems.  

“Take these to Cook and ask him to ferment them.” Arya tells Nana and Wyll, motioning to a bundle of baskets filled with pears and apples.

She nips a pomegranate from a near by bundle as she walks back to where Utherydes has had servants bring a stool and a small table, in order to better take notes in his ledger. She has not yet managed to open it, but as soon as she is close enough Utherydes takes it from her.

“What was that for?” Arya demands. She has spent a better part of the morning at this, she deserves a snack. It is not as though she is eating gold.

“Have you not been paying attention, Lady Arya?’ Utherydes asks, not even glancing at her, ‘Autumn is upon us, remember? In the autumn we must save food for the winter.”

“It is one pomegranate.”

“Aye, but food is about to be scarce since your uncle has decided to move all of the Riverlands into our walls. Remind me, my lady, what are the words of House Stark?”

“Winter is coming.”

“And so it is. When the snow is covering the people in the yard and we are unable to get out of the keep, you will be happy that there are still a few pomegranates for you to eat. Besides the nooning meal shall be soon. Before then, though, we need to go over berries”

Arya grumbles and kicks at a pebble. She is tried of counting and counting and counting. She is tired of telling servants where to and who to take foods to. She stands by the baskets of berries, but instead of bending down to see what kind they are she watches girls, a little bit a way from her, play a game. They are younger than her, dirtier for sure. Their hair has been cut short on orders of Maester Vyman and Utherydes. All women who enter the gates must have their hair cut, lest they spread lice throughout the new camp and in the keep. Arya reaches a hand up to feel her own newly cut hair.

She had been uncomfortable watching the women and girls struggle to hold back tears as their hair was cut. Arya has never cared much about her hair. It was brown and straight, like Father and Jon. Sansa and Mother, though, they loved their hair. Mother adored Sansa’s hair. She used to brush it every night and sometimes she would send the maids away in the morning and braid it herself. Sansa’s hair was thick and bright and in the sun is shown bright like fire. She could not imagine Sansa ever cutting her hair, it was her own version of a crown.

Arya had been in the garden with Elaenor and Bethany and Becca when a new batch of women and girls had been led into the Sept. In order to ease the blow, the Septon had suggested using the hair as a sacrifice to the Seven. For young girls and maidens their hair would be braided with baby’s breath and hyssop and put at the feet of the Maiden while Mothers and older women would have their hair braided with sweet woodruff and golden rod before being put before the Crone or the Mother. This information did not seem to really comfort anyone. It certainly was not comforting some of the little girls.

“No! I won’t! I like my hair!” a little girl yelled at her mother from where they stood waiting to go into the Sept. She did have pretty hair. It was not Sansa pretty, but still it was blond and curly. For all that most of the girl was dirty, it was clear someone took time to look after her hair.

“Hush, it will grow back.” The little girl’s mother told her. Then the girl started to cry.

Arya felt her hand go to her hair. The line was moving and the mother was struggling to get her daughter into the sept with the little girl screaming and kicking. Before Arya thought about it and before anyone could stop her, she was walking toward the little girl.

“I’ll do it with you.” She offered the little girl.

The girl quieted mid-scream and the mother stared at her. Both seemed a bit confused, but the child recovered faster. “I don’t want to cut my hair.”

“I know, but the Maester says we have to. I’ll let them cut mine too,” Arya said as she untied the ribbon holding her braid together and shook out her hair. It was longer than the little girls, longer actually than some of the women’s too. The last time her hair had been cut was when she was seven and she got her hair so tangled that it had to be cut. Now, though, it came just above the middle of her back.

“Arya!” Becca said just as the girl’s mother said, “My lady!”

Arya ignored both of them. Instead she focused on the girl, “My name is Arya. What is yours?”

“Wyllow.”

“Its stupid that we have to cut our hair, but no one listens to me. Will you go with me when they cut mine?”

The girl looked at her, clearly about to say no.

Arya thought about Bran and Rickon, “I’ll give you honey cake.”

The girl still looked thoughtful, clearly weighing options. Hair grew back and cake was a treat. Plus she would not have to do it all by herself. Finally the little girl nodded hesitantly.

Arya took her little hand and walked into the sept with the Wyllow and her Mother. Becca followed close behind loudly protesting while Bethany and Elaenor also spouting their own doubts. Bethany did not seemed all that concerned, though. Elaenor on the other had was firmly against this plan. The Septon, himself, seemed confused when she sat down on one of the stools that had been placed before the seven.

“Arya, no. Your lord grandfather will not be pleased and your lady Mother will have my head.”

“Arya, think this through. You have no idea how you are going to look with short hair. People already mistake you for a boy sometimes!”

“Maybe it wont be so bad.”

Arya ignored them and turned to the servant in front of her, “I want my hair cut.”

The servant looked from her to the Septon to Becca to her and back again. She was backing up as well, clearly not sure what to do. Arya was not sure what the big deal. It was simply hair and it would grow back eventually. At least now she would not have to spend so much time letting Becca braid her hair so it would not get tangled. As for Elaenor, if anyone mistook Arya for a boy she would correct them. It was not as if she was not used to it. At Winterfell people used to mistake her for a stableboy sometimes, which was strange at times considering her gowns. Strange or not it was not new and easily dealt with. Besides this way Mother could not force those awful Southeron braids the queen wore on to Arya’s head.

“No, Arya. This is madness.” Septa Donyse said. She had been in the Sept assisting with the cutting and braiding and had come over to try to change Arya’s mind.

Arya looked at the blonde little girl fidgeting on the stool next to her. She made a promise and a stark always keep their words.

“Fine. If you lot will not help me, I’ll do it myself.” She said, pluking the shears from the servant’s hand once the woman came back into reach.

She piled all of her hair on to one should and had been about to cut it, when Becca ripped the shears away from her. She turned to the elder girl, “We both know I’ll just do it tonight when you go to sleep.”

Becca studied her for a moment or two before letting out an aggravated sigh, “Fin. But I swear to the old gods and the new if your mother or grandfather are wroth I am sending them to you.”

“Deal.” Arya says handing the servant the shears.

Arya glances over to the little girl who still looks about to cry. While Becca instructs the woman on how short to cut her hair, Arya tries a distraction.

“Where are you from?” she asks.

“I dunno, somewhere near a river,’ the girl says swinging her feet, ‘You talk funny.”

“I do not!” Arya says, annoyed. Here she is trying to help and this little girl is making fun of her.

“Uh huh”

“Nu huh”

“Uh huh”

“Nu huh”

“Uh huh”

“You talk funny to me!”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do.”

“Everyone talks like this in the Riverlands!”

“I’m not from the Riverlands! I’m from the North.”

That caught Wyllow off guard. It was pretty obvious that she had never met anyone from anywhere but the Riverlands. Well, mayhap that was not true. The girl may have met some Westerlander or someone from the Crownlands or Stormlands before. Northerns rarely went South, however. If someone left often, Arya was not sure who it was. Mayhap Wyman Manderly had gone South since he had ships and such. She could not see Maege or Lord Karstark going South on their own.

“Really?”

“Aye.” Arya responds, a lock of hair falling into her lap.

“What is it like?”

“Colder than here, it snows there.”

“I’ve never seen snow.”

“It’s white…like rain, but a bit slower. It sticks to your hair and eye lashes. You can make snowknights and have snowball battles.” Arya said with a smile.

She remembered making snowknights with Bran and then having large snowball battles. Jon and Robb would make forts of snow for them to dive behind. Arya and Bran would make packed snowballs to build up an armory. Sometimes even Sansa would join in, squealing the whole time. The best battles were when Father got involved. Sometimes he would play with them. Being so much larger than she and Bran made him an easy target. Father was good at many things, but he had terrible aim. He rarely ever managed to hit Arya with a snowball.

Arya was so lost in her thoughts on snowball fights she does not even realize she is done until Elaenor nudges her. Arya’s head, to her surprise, feels a bit lighter. She never thought her hair so heavy. She reached up to figure out how short it was. Instead of her back, her hair grazes her shoulders. When the servant, who she thinks is named Livia, hands her the braid she marveled at how odd it felt to hold her own hair.

She waited until Wyllow had her own little braid before laying her braid at the feet of the Maiden. Arya’s braid has more flowers in it than Wyllow’s. The little girls braid has the baby’s breath and hyssop, but Arya’s has lilac that Bethany picked, woven into it. The Septon tell them where to put the hair before giving a quick blessing. Afterwards Arya made good on her promise and got the little girl a honey cake. She got one for herself as well.

Grandfather took to her hair better than Becca had said he would. He was not pleased by any means, but he was not angry. He seemed more put-out than anything.

“Cat will not…be pleased.”

“Mother will be alight.”

“She’ll be annoyed.”

“The women were upset. You said we have a duty to the smallfolk. If they had to cut their hair why shouldn’t I?”

Grandfather was so quiet for so long that Arya thought he had fallen asleep again. Instead he slowly reached up and wrapped a strand of hair around his finger, considering.

“At least they will…love you…for it.”

Arya does not tell him that she had never even considered their love or loyalty.

Now as the watches the girl she does not care about their love or loyalty. Now she feels a twist in her tummy as she watches them. It’s a twist similar to the one she felt when Mother would praise Sansa or Beth Cassel would hurry to Sansa instead of hers. This twist does not come with hurt, though. She wishes she could play. She wants to do something that was not this, but that was not happening at the moment. Every time she went to sneak off, Utherydes would notice her. He is much more observant than Septa Mordane.

“How many baskets of cranberries do we have?” Utherydes calls over to her.

Arya groans and starts looks at the baskets. She finds two baskets of cranberries and calls that back to him. She flicks one of the berries out of the basket out of spite. A berry for a pomegranate.

iv.

The stream of smallfolk has slowed and the castle has gotten used to the near constant commotion in the yard. Utherydes Wayne does not like it, Maester Vyman is concerned, and Grandfather (when conscious enough) does not seem pleased. He has not spoken much about it, at least not to her, other than a muttering of “foolishness”. Arya, on the other hand, loves it. Now that she and Utherydes have less to do she can finally have time to do as she pleases.

It reminds her of being home at Winterfell when Father would take them to nearby villages or Wintertown. She likes the commotion of it all. She plays with the other children. Bethany, and sometimes a weary Elaenor, joining into games of come-into-my-castle and monsters-and-maidens and tag. She helps the older children tech the younger ones to climb the tall trees in the gardens and tells them what a heart tree is. Some of them have never even heard of the old gods. It is a bit difficult to explain the old gods to them. They have no names and there are no real prayers and there are no days like Maiden’s Day for them. The people who would know that have all died or have hidden away somewhere, the Children of Forest cannot explain themselves anymore than Arya can really explain them to the children who were raised only with the new gods.

“That’s stupid.” A boy says, his hair bright orange. It would remind her of her brothers, but it too bright to be their hair.

“You’re stupid!” she glares.

Arya and the golds are still at odds. She does not pray to them, not truly. How can she when they let Father die? But Father believed in them. Father taught all of his children about the old gods who watched them from the heart tree and the Children of the Forest who were killed off. The Children had gone, but the gods had remained. If Father had said so then it could not be stupid. Besides Jon prayed to the old gods, she could not remember ever seeing him in the Sept. That may have more to do with the Mother than the gods, though. The sept was Mother’s space…and Sansa’s, but mostly Mother’s. If Jon prayed to the old gods then they could not be stupid. Well, they could be but this bright haired Southeron boy had no right to say so. He had never prayed to them, never trusted them. The old gods could not be stupid because Father prayed to them. Father is not – was not stupid.

The argument about the gods is forgotten a few days later when Arya avoids the gardens to try to get away from the smell of burning hair. Each braid has to be left for seven days in front of its respective statue, but it cannot be left for too long or else what Maester Vyman has been trying to avoid will occur and lice will spread. The hair cannot be thrown out, though, cannot be scattered to the winds either. Since the Septon prayed over them, they have to be burned on great pyres in front of the statues. Septa Donyse and Septon have tried to burn incense to cover the smell. The smell of burning hair mixed with burning resin and rosemary and sage. She hates it.

One of the older women, a woman old enough to be Old Nan, has taken to making pouches of herbs. At first Arya was confused watching the woman. She would collect flowers and herbs from the garden before using a stone to crush them and put them into little sew up pouches made from scraps of cloth. Arya did not see the point until she sees one of the chamber maids, with one and asked why.

“To cover up the smell, m’lady,’ Alys tells her, ‘Between all the people and the hair burning, we need something to cover the scent.”

Arya trades seven apples for seven of those pouches, one for her and Elaenor and Bethany and Becca and Septa Donyse and Grandfather and Uncle Edmure. Arya is not sure if that is enough, she has never truly bought anything without coin, but the old woman accepts happily enough, so Arya supposes all is well. Utherydes is not all that pleased, but does not lecture her on it. Uncle Edmure is pleased with his and the girls are happy as well. She did not get one for the Frey girls, but they rarely venture into the yard now anyway so Arya feels little guilt in the matter.

Arya is happy to smell lavender and roses instead of the burning of hair. The scent of it still lingers, but less so when she tucks the sachet into the shoulder of her gown. She wishes that someone had told of her of sweet pouches before she had gone South. She would have filled hers with pine needles and Northern chamomile and crow foot and juniper. If the snow would not melt she would try to pack that in there too. She is happy to have a way to cover up the smell that is coming from the yard, but she still wishes she could find a way to smell home.

v.

Arya dreams she is a wolf again. The smells around her, hit her tenfold. There is smoke and sweet flowers and sour smells coming from outside of the room. Even the fire she is curled up next to does not hide the smell. The scents around her are not perfect, but they do not really concern her. There is still a threat in the keep. A threat that needs to dealt with.

She rises and nudges the door open easily this time, she remembers the last dream. She makes her way to the stairs that she know leads to the threat. It needs to be dealt with. It already hurt one of her pack mates, has captured another, has threatened all of them. As long as they still breathe her entire pack is at risk. The men with swords will not do anything to help, they contain it but they do not stop it. If they really wanted to be part of this pack, if they really wanted to protect those who lived within these stones then they would do what needed to be done. They will not, though. Weak. Too weak. Arya is not weak, though, not like this. Arya is a wolf and she is large, though not done growing, and her teeth are sharp. Men do not scare her, especially these weak ones.

The men standing near the stairs this night are different than the ones before. They are younger and look strange. There is an odd scent around them. The human Arya knows wine, wolf Arya knows this is an advantage. She has seen men who smelled like this before. They are clumsy and weaker than usual. Simply growling is enough to get her through this time, no snapping needed.

She cannot open the door again. She scratches and bangs but nothing works.

“Who is out there?” the threat calls out. There is no fear there, they are not scared…they are agitated.

Arya lets out a growl in response. She’s out here and she wants to be in there. The door is starting to bend when clamor comes behind her. She recognizes the men who came, cannot remember their names but know their scent. The rest of her pack would be angry if they were hurt.

Arya wakes and her door is slightly open once again, but there is no metallic taste in her mouth. Nymeria is still curled up on the rug in front of the fire place.

Cleos Frey returns with Lannister men.

Arya stands just behind Uncle Edmure as he welcomes the men and demands their weapons. Arya waits for there to be a fight about it, some argument that needs to be quelled. There is not one, though. The men give their weapons quickly and are ushered inside. Uncle Edmure seems at ease until a signer is introduced. Raymund the Rhymer is a happy sort. Elaenor will be well pleased that a signer has come to Riverrun.

Arya has no interest in the singer though. She does not care much for the Red Cloaks or for the men who have returned from the South with Cleos. Her focus is on the women in the rough spun grey wool, pale waif like creatures. Her tummy twists at the sight of them. The Silent Sisters have long been used as a scary story for little girls all over Westeros. Brides of the Stranger who refused to talk to any mortal. Some said that they cut out their tongues so they could speak to the dead, just as the Crone’s Sisters plucked out their eyes for the ability to see the future. The dead have no tongues to speak with, so they could not understand those who did. Some say that they did not cut out their tongues, but in order to learn to speak to the dead they had to give up the language of the living. They could speak to no one save the dead and the Stranger, to whom they were said to marry. Arya wonders if they could speak to one another, sisters in death.

Septa Mordane used to threaten to send her to the Silent Sisters when she did not behave. Once when Arya was little, she took the threat seriously. She had tried to be good for the rest of the afternoon, but had torn the hem of her gown when she climbed a tree with Bran. She remembers being terrified, convinced that Septa Mordane would convince Mother and Father to send her to the Silent Sisters and they would take her tongue and she would have no friends but the dead. Arya hid under Jon’s bed for the rest of the day. She stayed there even when it was time for dinner, convinced that if she left from Jon’s chambers she would be sent away.

It was, of course, Jon who found her. The whole keep had been looking for her when she had shown up at the evening meal. Father had even sent men to the woods. Arya had begged Jon not to let them send her to the Silent Sisters, to let her just stay under his bed until Septa Mordane forgot about her. He had laughed and hugged her tight when she crawled out from under the bed (once upon a time he had been small enough to crawl under with her).

“I wont let them send you to the Silent Sisters, little sister. If they try to we’ll run off and become wildlings beyond the Wall.”

“We could be sellswords in Braavos.” She had suggested.

“Or that.” He’s agreed. None of that had been necessary, of course. He had convinced her to go with him to Father and instead of yelling Father had picked her up and held her tight. Mother had come not long after, more relieved than angry, demanding that Arya never scare her like that again. She had gotten a lecture, but they did not send her to the Silent Sisters.

Arya is not scared of the women now, not really. She is basically a woman grown now, too old to be scared of these women. Arya watches them unload a large ornate chest from their wagon and Arya feels tears come already. Father. Cleos Frey did not bring Ice, but he did bring what was left of Father. Father was always so large, to him condensed to a chest feels so wrong. It does not really make sense.

She pushes past the men making their way to the keep, like a fish swimming up stream as she tries to get to the Great Hall where they are laying out the bones. Utherydes is standing a bit away, overlooking the work. He looks torn when she goes to stand next to him.

“Lady Arya…you should go.” He says softly. Arya suddenly prefers his usual brusqueness. This softness is from pity, it is from a man speaking to a young girl who has lost her father. At the moment she is not the little Lady of Riverrun to Utherydes, she is a little girl. Arya suddenly wants to go back to being the Lady of Riverrun to Utherydes. She wants desperately to go back to how they usually are, this is too much.

“He is my father.” She tells him. This is Father and she will not abandon him to these strangers. She stands with Utherydes as the women take out the bones to lay them out one by one, their mouths moving in silent prayer. She wants to yell at these women that it will do nothing. Father rarely went to the Sept, only every once in a while to go with Mother. Why should these brides of the Stranger be praying over him.

Before they can cover the bones with the Stark banner, she wonders where they got from, she steps forward to look. She thinks maybe if she looks long enough she will see Father amongst the bones...but she does not see him. She sees bones, large white sticks in odd shapes. This is not Father. Then her heart feels like it collapses. There is no head. There are hands and feet and ribs, but no head. A neck and nothing more. Where is the head?

She spins to the quiet woman wrapped in grey, “Can you speak to a man who has no head?”

She remembers stories of the Silent Sisters. Some said they spoke to spirits, others say that they spoke to the bones. That they kept skulls in their temples to speak to, skulls to tell them the past and the future. If Father had no skull would anyone speak to him. Was he bound for eternity to speak to no one? If there is no head with the bones does the spirit have no head either?

“Can you? Can you speak to him still?” she demands, trying very hard not to cry.

The woman she is speaking to does not answer. Arya knows she cannot, knows she probably has no tongue, but it just makes her angry. All she wants to know is that her Father will never have someone speak to him again. All she wants to know is if this woman who gave her life to the stupid  Stranger can still speak to Father. Because if she can, Arya has a few things to say. Like I love you. Like I miss you. Like please come back. Like how could you go off and leave me?  

The grey woman is staring at her and Arya has never hated someone so much in her entire life. Utherydes is dragging her from the hall, trying to be gentle about it and Arya hates him too. Hates all of them. How dare they? Who gave them the right? Who said they should live while Eddard Stark, the best of fathers and men, lay dead?

vi.

Arya has been ten for almost a moon the first time she sees men die. She has seen corpses before, of course, thanks to the Siege of Riverrun  but she has never seen men die. She remembers Father taking her brothers to see executions. She remembers Bran coming back from the execution with the direwolves. Bran had described the scene to her in an imitation of Old Nan’s stories. It was not as good, but it was decent. Bran’s story did not really prepare her for what was to come.

She, like the rest of the castle, had been woken when there were shouts and crashes. Arya had been sleeping with Bethany (she is fairly sure that Uncle Edmure has told to the girls to start sharing her bed more often so she will stop trying to sleep in the Great Hall) when Nymeria started growling at the door.

“Nymeria?” she called out, Bethany still snoring beside her. Nymeria started pacing, and scratched at the door.

Arya climbed out of the bed and opened the door, and Nymeria barged through. Arya stepped into the hallway, treated to the sight almost all of the guards in Riverrun running towards the stairs. When Nymeria bounded after them, Arya followed. Where Nymeria went so did she, Arya never even thought about it.

She followed Nymeria and the knights, barefeet cold against the stone floor. Before she knew it she stood in front of a battle. Four of the men that came with Cleos Frey were trying to fight off the guards, they were trying to make it down to the Water gate. One appeared to be half in and out of a raft. They are not much to watch, they are clearly not fighters. They are clever enough, though, for Jaime Lannister is among them. Suddenly Arya understood why Bran has idolized him. The man has been stuck in a room in the tower for near two moons and yet the way he swung that sword one would think that he was never locked up to begin with. He took down Desomd Grell’s Squire easily enough.

Nymeria took down the biggest man in the group. He had already took down two men down, but he is n match for an angry direwolf. He swung at her, but Nymeria took out his throat before he could do any damage. The shock at the appearance of a large attacking wolf is enough to throw the men off, until the only one left standing is the Kingslayer. Arya wished she had Needle at her side, but stupid little girl she is, she forgot it. If she had it, she would run him through. Nymeria growled at him inching closer and closer, stalking her prey. The Kingslayer is focused on Nymeria, she is the most deadly thing in this room. Nymeria is just over a year now and is almost as tall as Arya is. Utherydes has started to mutter more loudly about how it time for Nymeria to start living outside. Uncle Edmure said that she would scare the smallfolk too much, besides what if she ate the animals? Arya knew better than to point out that Nymeria would not. She was not going to help Utherydes kick Nymeria outside.

Nymeria is about to take out Jaime Lannister’s throat when Desmond Grell, using Nymeria as a distraction, took the man from behind. As the Lannister struggles against the man two more knights rush forward, one wrenched the sword from him while the other took his other arms, subduing him. Than Uncle Edmure was there shouting orders and asking what happened.

“What you doing here?” he demanded when he noticed her, clearly confused.

“Nymeria.” She said by way of explanation. She walked down the few steps left and knelt to give her wolf a firm pat and some praise, ignoring the odd feeling beneath her knees. She’d protected the pack, she was the best of wolves.

Uncle Edmure looked at her then at Nymeria, her muzzle still covered in gore, and back. He shook his head, clearly he had more to deal with than a wayward niece. “Eryk,’ he called out, ‘escort my niece and her wolf back to her bedchamber.”

The young knight obeyed quickly. He bounded up to them, “Come with me, Lady Arya.”

When he tried to take her hand, Nymeria growled and he jumped back.

Bethany was wake when Arya came back to the chamber. Elaenor had joined her.

“What happened?” Bethany demanded.

“Some men tried to help the Kingslayer escape. Nymeria helped to stop them.”

“Did they hurt you?” Elaenor asked, concerned.

“No. Why?”

“You look like you are bleeding.”

Arya looked down at her shift, the bottom half was almost as bloody as Nymeria’s maw. It must have happened when Arya knelt down to pat Nymeria. She wonders whose it is. There had been so many men down there that she was not sure whose blood it even was. She had not gotten a real look at any of the bodies in all of the commotion.

It is not until after the break their fast that they find out what is to becomes of the men. Jaime Lannister was to be put in the dungeons, Cleos Frey was to be locked in Lannister’s old room, and the three men still alive were going to be sentenced by Uncle Edmure. What he was going to do was a subject up to debate. This would be the first time that Uncle Edmure sentenced someone without Grandfather’s suggestions. She had heard some men call it his defining moment.

Arya was with Maester Vyman, learning about the families of Dorne (thank the gods there are fewer houses there than in the Crownlands) when Uncle Edmure made his decision.

“Green dragon, yellow background.”

“…House Gargalen?”

“Close. House Gargalen has yellow backing with a red cockatrice and a black snake in its mouth.”

“Oh.”

Maester Vyman opens his mouth to give hint, but the door to Arya’s solar slamed open before he could speak. A young page stood in the opening, clearly excited about something, “Lord Edmure has made his decision. He is sentencing the prisoners on the wall.”

Houses and words and lineage were forgotten. Arya, like everyone else in the keep, made her way outside. She had expected to see people stopping in front of the gates, but the bridge had been dropped and people were making their way out of it. Arya followed the tide, on her way out she managed to find Elaenor and Bethany and the Frey girls. Apparently it took a sentencing to bring them all together.

“What are they doing up there?” Arya asked Septa Donyse, as they looked up to where Uncle Edmure, a few guards, and the three men stood. The kingslayer and Cleos Frey were being held off the side.

“I’m not sure…” Septa Donyse answered. She seemed unsure of something, kept shifting, as though trying to figure out if she should leave or not.

“I think we sho-” Becca started, hand on Arya’s shoulder but Edmure had already started to speak and there is no way to fight through the crowd to get back to the keep, well there was but it would not be easy.

“These men stand before you for attempting to free Jaime Lannister,’ Uncle Edmure calls out, ‘They came to me three days past and asked to sleep beneath my roof. They handed over the weapons and swore to do no harm to those who live within these walls. Four men, good men, are dead. Does it sound as though they kept their oaths?”

The crowd roared their disapproval of the men. Even Elaenor let out a, “No!”

“These men ate our food, drank our wine, and called us friend. They came here as part of a peace envoy. Have they brought peace?”

“No!”

“These men are not even knights! One a mummer, one a thief, and one another common criminal. These men deceived us. These men tried to destroy us. Should we allow it?”

“No!”

“We need to go back inside,” Sepat Donyse said, her voice getting carried away by the crowd. It was a bit late for that.

“The Seven and the law tell us what is to be done with these men. There is only one punishment for such a crime. I, Edmure Tully, sentences these men to death in the name of my father, Lord Hoster Tully, the Lord of Riverrun.”

The crowd started to grow louder. People started to surge closer to the wall as if to help Uncle Edmure with the execution. Arya felt sick. Her mind does not go to the men on the wall, her thoughts go to Father. Did the crowd scream like this when he was executed? Was there a mob in front of him yelling curses and jokes and insults?

He did not deserve it, though, she reminds herself. Father did nothing wrong, these men risked all of them. They were liars and thieves and would slit all of their throats if they could. This was the right thing to do. It was. Uncle Edmure had to do this so people could understand. Uncle Edmure has to kill them because he has to show the Lannisters that they cannot do as they please and get away with it. This was for the best, truly it was. Grandfather would say so and Arya thought in this situation Dacey would agree. It had to be done.

Arya watched confused as the men on the wall do something with rope. She was waiting for a block and sword to be brought out like Bran had described. Northerns give quick deaths to criminals. You sentence a man and then you swing the sword. Like Bran said Father said. Arya is apparently the only one shocked when the first man is pushed over the wall. He did not fall to the ground, the rope around his neck caught before he could. Instead he is left dangling from above the ground, his face changing from white to purple. Then the next men fell and there were three men squirming on the wall.

Walda threw up on her silk slippers, Bethany looked as though she would like to do the same. Elaenor, at some point, squeezed her eyes shut. Becca let out a soft “fuck” and Septa Donyse seemed to be looking for a way out of the crowd. Arya, though, cannot seem to look away. She wanted to, really she did, but she could not. She watched until the men went still, did not even look away when Uncle Edmure announced that the bodies would be left there for the crows to eat. She did not stop looking until Septa Donyse and Becca forced her and the rest back into the keep.

That night she laid next to Elaenor and tries to sleep. They did not speak of what happened that morning, simply talked around it instead of facing it. Both wanted to talk about it, it was clear, but what did one say? Arya was not sure how she even felt about it at this point. Why should she be upset? Those men were a threat and Uncle Edmure did the right thing. Still that night, once the keep is asleep, Arya feels her stomach roll. The image of the skinny man’s purple face is in her mind she tries to quietly throw up in a chamber pot.

It was the food, it had to be. Seeing these men die did not upset her. It was the right thing to do.

Of course it was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Sacrificing hair was common in ancient greece and rome (shout out to an old HP fic that gave me the idea to look into it)  
> \- Sweet pouches were a thing in the Middle Ages, though they were usually kept with clothing instead of carried around


	14. XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon makes plans, Arya tries to find a sparring partner, Lord Hoster's health continues to decline, and a host arrives at Riverrun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!  
> So this chapter is late (and a bit short), but i wanted to get it out there. I hope to get the next chapter out this upcoming Sunday, so fingers crossed!
> 
> Thank you for reading! As always kudos and comments are appreciated!

i.

“You set us on a quest we cannot hope to win, Theon. Torrhen’s Square will never fall.”

“It is not Torrhen’s Square I plan to take.”

“We have tried for some of the other keeps on the coasts. It has never worked.”

“It’s not just some keep I want. It will work, you just have to trust me.”

ii.

“Hold it higher.”

“I’m trying to! Can’t you just teach me how to shoot?”

“Uncle Edmure only gave me one bow so that wont work. I already tried using one of the long bows, they are too heavy.”

“This is heavy too.”

“Not as heavy as a long bow, though.”

Bethany groans and holds the wooden sword higher, Arya is sure that Elaenor is shaking her head somewhere. Still needs is as needs must, and Arya needs a sparring partner. Robb, true to his word, had spoken to Uncle Edmure about helping Arya continuing with Needle but Uncle Edmure had a thousand and one excuses not to spar with her. Arya is fairly sure that he gave her the spice-wood bow for her nameday in order to get out of sparring with her.

Changing over to a bow was not an option, even if Uncle Edmure thought it suited her better. So Arya was left with either enlisting the help of Bethany or Elaenor or going back to sparring with Ser Flour. Ser Flour now seemed too scared of her to spar with her, so she had to go with her second option.

Bethany had been pretty easy to convince to help her, but that was not much of a surprise. Arya like Elaenor, truly, but is there is mischief to be had Arya always goes to Bethany. Bethany is usually eager to go along on and adventure and break a few rules. Lately Bethany would do anything to get out of music lessons. When Lord Tytos had seen how well Elaenor played he suggested that she teach it to Bethany. When he returned to Raventree Hall he sent one of Bethany’s brothers with a harp for her.

Bethany is good at many things. She is good at sewing and dancing. She is a decent rider and while she is no Sansa, she is pretty good at writing poetry. She is not good at playing the harp, though. No matter how long she has sat with Elaenor playing, there has been little improvement. Whenever Arya can think of something for her to slip off and do other than play the harp, she is typically all in. Now, though, Arya thinks that Bethany is reconsidering her choices.

“You are doing so much better, Bethany, I promise.” Arya says before lunging forward.

She means it too, even if not long after she says so Bethany steps on her hem and trips. They have not been able to snag a pair of breeches or hose for Bethany, so they have been stuck wearing gowns. Arya still prefers her stolen breeches, but to wear them would not be fair. Besides Dacey has been encouraging Arya to learn to spar in gowns.

“What if there is an assassin and you are wearing a gown? Will they wait for you to change?” Dacey asked.

“I could change fast!”

“Good luck with that. For now, though, you need to practice in gowns. I can fight in a gown as can Mother, even little Lyanna can.” Dacey said, amused. Before she had ridden off with Robb, Dacey had made sure to remind Arya about her new assignment.

“Watch your hem!” Arya tells Bethany.

Bethan gets up grumbling, brushing her skirt off. Her face is red and sweaty and Arya is starting to worry that she is going to give up. Bethany has started sparring with her due to Arya basically begging and wanting to get out of harp lessons, she does not really enjoy it. She does enjoy being in on the secret, though, since she had never told Elaenor or Bethany what she does when she goes off with Dacey. It had been a bit of tension between the three of them, though once she explained the situation the girls had come around pretty easily. Even if Elaenor was a tad disapproving, but Arya was expecting that.

“Are you alright, Bethany?” Arya asks, when Bethany says nothing in return. She is still brushing off her skirt, the wooden practice sword swinging limply at her side. Maybe she fell on a rock or something, Arya knows all too well how much that can hurt.

Arya walks towards the younger girl, but all of the sudden Bethany looks up with determination. Bethany swings the sword up and charges, managing to knock Arya on her back with a surprised yelp. Bethany has been replaced with the Riverland blue sky, the sun making little dots appear in Arya’s vision. As suddenly as Bethany disappeared, she reappears with a wide grin.

“Watch your hem!” Bethany says.

Arya can hear Elaenor’s laughter coming from behind Bethany. Once the shock passes, Arya starts laughing too.

iv.

“They say Robb is more wolf than man now,’ Arya tells Grandfather, ‘He won the battle at the Oxe Cross.”

The news came a few days ago and before word had even reached Arya, Raymund the Rhymer was already singing of it. He is a good singer. Arya enjoys listening to his songs, though sometimes he only sings love songs which annoys her. He also does not really know Northern songs, but on the whole is pretty good. Uncle Edmure seems a bit weary, though, but refuses to explain when asked. He only ever mutters not to trust stupid singers.

Grandfather does not really react, not that Arya is all that surprised. When she asked Maester Vyman if he would ever improve he gave hopeful words, but his eyes told the truth. If Arya has learned anything from war it is that adults are liars. You ask if things will be alright and they never say what will actually happen. Arya has gotten a bit better at figuring out the truth. Comforting words do not bring as much comfort when the men speaking refuse to look you in the eye as they speak.

Septa Donyse suggested praying for Grandfather in the Sept or even in the Gods Wood. Neither Uncle Edmure or Arya visit the Sept anymore and Arya is still trying to figure out her relationship with the old gods. Arya does not see the point of praying for Grandfather or Robb or anyone else. She had prayed for Father and that had not happened. She is reminded of that every time she sees one of the Silent Sisters walking in their rough grey gowns. She tries not to look at the one who she begged for answers and received none, yet sometimes she cannot help but look for her even if she is not really sure which one she is. She wonders if given more time, if she could have gotten answers from the woman. She wonders what the woman’s name is. Arya would bet ten gold dragons that it is Jeyne.

“They call him the young wolf now. The young wolf who is King in the North. Some of the men call me she-wolf.” Arya says. It makes her proud when they call her that, especially in reference to her brave older brother. Arya may have spent just over a year at Riverrun, but she is still more wolf than fish. She may now know how to properly swim, but she will not be trading gills for fangs.

“She-wolf…’ Grandfather repeats, dazed, ‘There was another…a she-wolf…”

“Probably.” Arya agrees. House Stark has been in the North for hundreds and hundreds of years, there probably has been other she-wolves. Like her Grandmother Lyarra or her Aunt Lyanna.

“No she-wolves…only a little cat and my Lysa…my poor Lysa…”

“Aunt Lysa?” Arya asks, confused. Mother rarely speaks of Aunt Lysa, but none of what she said made it sound as if something had happened to her. Maybe Grandfather is confused.

“My Lysa…it was only tansy…tansy and mint…and wormwood…and a spoonful of honey…and a drop of pennyroyal…it was for the best…for her own good.” Grandfather says, he is not looking at her, looking out at the rivers.

“I don’t understand.” Arya says. She came to Grandfather’s solar to tell him of Robb. She came to tell him about how the smallfolk were doing and the news friends she made and how a babe had been born last night (Arya told the new mother that Vhagar was a good name for a little boy, but the mother went with Robert for Robb) and how much better she has gotten with her bow. She did not come to speak of some aunt that she had never met and who did not come when her family called for her.

Grandfather turns to her then, his eyes dazed. He looks at her as if looking at a stranger before recognition lights in his eyes.

“Lyanna…what have you…done to…your hair? Rickard will be…furious.”

“I’m not Lyanna, Grandfather. I’m Arya.”

He must not have heard her.

“What have you…done to your…hair? Where is…Brandon? Did he…bring you? Is he with…Cat?”

“Mother? Grandfather, Mother is at Bitterbridge with Great Uncle Brynden. Uncle Brandon is…not here.” Saying dead feels wrong somehow, even if it is true.

“Bryden…where is he…the Redwyne girl, waits…she is waiting for him. Go fetch him for me…Lyanna.”

“I am not Lyanna!” Arya says frustrated and unnerved.

“Lady Arya?” Maester Vyman calls from the doorway. She gets off of her seat to go to him.

“Grandfather keeps calling me Lyanna. I told him I am Arya, but he wont believe me.” Arya says.

Maester Vyman gives her a grim smile, “He is not having a good day today, my lady, why not let him rest? I am sure he will be in better spirits this evening or on the morrow.”

Maester Vyman says with a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Arya notices that he is looking at her forehead instead of her eyes.

“My sweet Lysa…” Grandfather says again as Arya leaves the solar.

v.

There are rumors about Arwyn spreading about the keep. One of the Frey men sent to Riverrun apparently has a lose tongue and let a few things slip. Everyone seems to have heard different, but similar things. Elaenor heard the girl was caught with a stable boy. Arya heard that the Frey girl was caught _fucking_ a merchant who came to the Twins. Bethany heard that Arwyn had lain with her cousin, one of the Walders. Becca heard, though she is reluctant to say, that Lady Arwyn has made advances on Raymund Rhymer. Her mother was known for it too if the servants could be believed. Neither Arya nor Bethany are really sure what this means, even the oh so worldly and knowledgeable Elaenor is not terribly sure. Becca knows what it means, but she refuses to tell no matter how much Arya begs her to explain.

When Arya asks Uncle Edmure he chokes on the wine he is sipping on and his face goes as red as his hair. Maester Vyman is not much use either. He did not choke like Uncle Edmure, but he looked uncomfortable and said that for information in such matters she should go to her Septa or her Mother, once she returned. Septa Donyse is a bit helpful, though she makes Arya, Bethany, Elaenor, Walda, and Arwyn kneel in front of the painting of the Maiden for what must be forever. While they kneel she goes on and on about commitment to the Maiden and the importance of protecting one’s honor.

Arya is still not sure what exactly Arwyn is supposed to have done (even the older girls of the smallfolk have been somewhat unhelpful, they giggle over the question but before being shushed and reminded that they cannot speak of such things in front of a lady), what she does know is that it is not good. Arya does not rejoice in what is obviously an uncomfortable situation for Arwyn, but she does not mourn either.

When Arwyn first came to Riverrun there had been talk that she might be the Frey girl who would marry Robb. After all Arwyn was a companion to his little sister and when Robb was in residence they shared a roof. When Mother was back then she and Arwyn would spend some time together as well, if only because of Arya. According to the men she was a definite contender. According to the smallfolk some already called her the to-be-Queen. Or they had. Arya did not think they did anymore, which worked well for her.

Judging by how people spoke of her, Arya no longer has to worry about calling Arwyn “good-sister”. Arya is sure that before the year is done she will be calling Dacey Mormont “sister”.

vi.

Arya remembers Old Nan once saying that bad news always comes in threes. It seemed an odd saying at the time, but Arya is starting to think that Old Nan had been on to something, except the rule of three was not restricted to bad news, she should have added odd news as well. The first piece of news came from Storm’s End.

Arya knew about Storm’s End in a vague sense. She knew that it was the ancestral home of the House Baratheon and according to Elaenor was home to one of the greatest love stories ever, the tale of Durran and Eleni. It was not the home of a love story now, though, Storm’s End was under siege. The Maester sent not one, but three letters begging for aid.

“Are we not going to help them?” Arya asked Uncle Edmure over a rare private dinner.

“No,’ Uncle Edmure said with a shrug, ‘That is not our fight.”

“But don’t we want the Stormlands on our side?”

“The Stormlands are never going to be on our side unless your brother suddenly bends the knee to Renly or Stannis. Besides we have nothing to help them with. Most of the men are with Robb or Lord Bolton and we are not exactly in the right place for a lot of ships.”

“Oh.” Arya mumbled for lack of a better response.

“I would help if I could, but this is not our fight…besides how long were we under siege for?”

“Over a moon.”

“Did any Baratheons or Stormlanders suddenly come to our aid?”

“No.”

“Exactly. Until Renly and Stannis are dealt with, we have no choice but to watch.”

“That is why Mother went to Bitterbridge.”

“Hopefully she gets somewhere with them.”

“She will.” Arya said confidently. If there was anyone who could make Stannis and Renly see reason it would be Mother. Arya was sure of it.

Then came the news that Mother killed King Renly Baratheon. The Lady Catelyn Stark, mother of a king, mother to wolves, Lady of Winterfell, daughter of House Tully had slain King Renly Baratheon. When the news reached Arya she laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed while everyone else looked at her as if she had gone mad. The rest of them had truly gone mad, though, if they thought her mother could kill anyone. True, Mother could have a sharp tongue but not sharp enough to slit a man’s throat. Besides that Mother had too much honor to stab a man in the back. She would never do that, not ever.

“Lady Arya, this is serious.” Utherydes had said, looking at her wearily. He obviously thought she had lost her mind.

“Its just so stupid! Mother would never kill Renly Baratheon.”

“Aye,’ Utherydes agreed, ‘but Lady Catelyn is in danger from anyone who believed that she did kill him.”

“ I don’t know, maybe he annoyed Cat enough.” Edmure mused, clearly not planning on being as serious as Utherydes wished.

“If Cat did it she had her…reasons.” Grandfather said. He was having one of his good days, he even remembered who Arya was. Maester Vyman had made her swear not to mention that he had forgotten who she was not long ago. It would not do to upset him with such news.

There are other tales too, in which Mother is still involved but not the killer. One story is that the ghost of King Robert’s ghost came for his brother, in order to protect his son. Arya is not sure that is any more believable than Mother being a king slayer. From what she remembers of King Robert he would not have been able to take on his younger brother. Renly, if Arya’s memory served, was smaller than his brother but still muscular. Arya doubted that King Robert had much muscle. Besides the king did not seem very interested in his children, not interested in much else other than Father and women who were not Queen Cersei.

It would not be fair either. Why should stupid fat King Robert come back from the grave and not Father? Father was ten times the man the king was, even if Father thought to call the king “brother”. Mayhap that was why the old king came back instead of Father. Father would never kill King Renly, he had too much honor to do so. Plus Mother was there as a peace envoy and Father would never do anything to put Mother in danger.

Another tale is that the Maid of Tarth became overcome with jealousy at seeing Renly and the Lady Margaery in love and in her rage killed the king. Upon seeing his sister’s groom slain and having lost his own good brother, the knight of flowers, Ser Loras, swore vengeance upon the woman. The Lady Catelyn, feeling for the grief stricken Maid, spirited the woman away in the hopes of being able to come back and assuaging the knight’s rage. There was a second ending where Lady Catelyn drove the Maid of Tarth to kill the king and once the deed was done ran for safety.

These are Elaenor’s favorite version of what has happened. Arya thinks that they may be most accurate to what happened. Mother could not be a king slayer, but she would save someone she thought was innocent, or at least needed help. Arya would be lying if she said she did not enjoy this tale. The Maiden of Tarth sounded amazing. A maiden as large as ten men with the strength of twenty. Ami, a butcher’s daughter, told her that her brother told her that the old Lord of Tarth wed one of the last giantesses and from their union came Brienne of Tarth. Brienne of Tarth who became a knight and one of Renly’s guards. Brienne who even beat the knight of flowers in a joust. Brienne of Tarth who might honestly be the best woman in Westeros.

Arya bets that Brienne of Tarth is like Visenya and Rhaenys and Nymeria. True she had the whole possible-king-slaying thing, but if Mother chose to help her then there was more to that story. Besides no one is perfect.

The third oddity is that Uncle Edmure plans to ride. Where he plans to ride off to, Arya is not sure but he talks of it more. He talks a lot about honor and glory and making people proud these days. He seems to be rather jealous of those who got to ride off to the Oxe Cross and even of Lord Bolton heading to Harrenhal. No one should ever be jealous of Lord Bolton. Arya remembers him, though she was never really around him. She remembers him riding to Winterfell a few times, remembers that Bran was frightened of him. She had laughed at Bran for that, but she could not blame him really. From what she remembers of Lord Bolton, he is creepy. His eyes are too pale, more off putting than the pale eyes of House Frey, and he was too quiet. Plus Father did not like him. Whenever Roose Bolton came to Winterfell, Father did not want Jon or Sansa or Arya or Bran around.

“There must be some way I could help.” Uncle Edmure said, pacing Grandfather’s solar.

“Patience…Edmure. There is enough to done here…with your smallfolk.”

“I can fight as well, Father. We have received no word after the Oxe Cross, what if they need assistance?”

“Patience.” Grandfather insisted.

Patience is not a virtue of Uncle Edmure’s. Arya keeps waiting for a surprise fourth surprise piece of news in which Uncle Edmure has decided to ride off. She hopes that news does not come.

vii.

Arya is playing cats-and-rats with Bethany and Elaenor and some of the other children in the gardens when she sees Uncle Edmure, Utherydes Wayne, and Desmond Grell ride out. It’s a strange sight, as to her knowledge they were not going anywhere. When Arya asks Septa Donyse the woman claims to have no knowledge of what is going on. Typically Arya would go ask Utherydes or Maester Vyman what is happening, but Utherydes has ridden off with Uncle Edmure and Maester Vyman is busy taking care of Grandfather. Grandfather is having another bad day today.

Arya is weary, but she goes back to her game. She still has too many duty, so when she has time to play she takes it. Sometimes she has to make times to play, sneaking away outside when no one is looking. That can be rather difficult between Utherydes, Maester Vyman, a Septa, a handmaid, and four companions. Not to mention the hosts of servants who came to her with their questions.

Arya races away from Bethany’s hand with a squeal that was nothing like Sansa’s. She laughs as she darts away and makes it to the other side, clever rat that she is. If there is one thing Arya can do it is scurry quickly. She chases and runs and squeals. For a little bit she does not worry about her hair or hem or what needs to be done. She likes the children of smallfolk, likes them a bit more than she likes the adults. On the whole they do not really care if she is highborn or not, she is a playmate. They do not worry about what she may or may not tell Uncle Edmure or Grandfather. Some of the older boys and girls can treat her oddly or with suspicion, but she usually gets on well with everyone.

“Arya!” a voice calls and Arya spins around, just as a boy – Jack – taps her on the shoulder. Mother is home.

Arya rushes to her, happy that she has returned with her head. She does not even notice the people around her, too focused on Mother. Mother kneels down and holds Arya tight when she reaches her. Arya in turn throws her arms around her Mother, they do not have the easiest of relationship all the time but Arya is happy Mother is back. Mother is back and soon Robb will be too with Sansa and then they can all go back to Winterfell.

“What has happened to your hair?” Mother asks, leaning back to look at her properly, her fingers combing through Arya’s short hair.

“They cut it, Mother.” Arya tells her. Mother turns to level a glare at Edmure who holds his hands up in front of him in defense.

“Do not look at me, Cat, Arya made that decision all by herself.”

“They braided the hair and sacrificed it to the Maiden, my lady,’ Utherydes says, ‘There have been worries about lice.”

Mother nods, but does not seem pleased. Arya did not expect her to be pleased by the change, but at least she was not angry. Arya could not see Mother getting angry over her hair, maybe over Sansa’s but not hers. It would grow back anyway and it was nice to have her hair out of her face and not have to deal with braids.

Mother straightens and steps back, motioning to someone behind her.

“Arya, this is the Lady Brienne of Tarth. She will be staying with us for a time.”

Arya stares at Brienne of Tarth and she is better than expected, even if she is not the size of a giant. Arya takes in the boiled leather and mail and the sword at her hip and smiles wide. Things are starting to look up for Arya.


	15. XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New arrivals at Winterfell, Catelyn and Arya speak, and Arya gets to bond with Brienne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody, welcome back!   
> So i know it has been a month since i last updated and i am sorry for the delay. School has me swamped and i needed to really think about where this story is going. I am a bit more confident in my path now! This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but it is really being used to set up for the next ones so thats part of it. For those wondering what is going to happen to Jaime we start getting into that and actual plot shifts next chapter. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! And thank you to everyone for their kudos and comments (talking to you guys can be really helpful). Enjoy!

i.

“Theon!”

“What are you on about, Rickon?”

“Theon’s come back.”

“Is Robb with him?”

“No…”

“He must be coming soon, though, if Theon is here.”

ii.

 “Is it true, Brienne? Did you truly kill Renly?” Arya asks when Mother has gone off to see Grandfather and Brienne ha been left with her and the girls. Well, with her and Bethany and Elaenor, Walda and Arwyn are not terribly concerned with the new arrivals. 

“Lady Arya,” Septa Donyse hisses, clearly aghast.

“Because word came that you killed him.”

“That’s not true! Word also came that your lady mother did it.” Bethany points out, from her seat next to Arya.

“Girls, enough. This is not an appropriate conversation. You are supposed to be preparing for the evening meal, not bothering Lady Brienne.” Septa Donyse says sternly, shooting a look at Arya and Bethany.

Arya shoots Bethany her own look. Mother would never kill King Renly. She was a lot of things, but not a king slayer. She was nothing like Jaime Lannister.

“It’s alright, Lady Brienne,’ Elaenor says, laying a gentle hand on the woman’s arm, ‘You did it because you were so in love with him. Love makes all of us do rash things.”

Brienne looks decidedly uncomfortable, even as she quietly thanks Elaenor for her kindness. What happened to King Renly has been a subject of great debate since the news reached Riverrun. Arya does not think Mother could have done it, so she originally believed that Brienne was the one to kill Renly. Having met her, though, Arya is not so sure. Brienne blushes too much to be a killer and she looked so sad at the mention of Renly for her to be proud of his demise. But Arya has not yet known the woman an hour yet, so mayhap something hid beneath the blushes and discomfort.

“Girls, honestly-”

“So, did you do it?” Arya asks again, determined to get answers.

“No,’ Brienne says softly, ‘I did not kill King Renly.”

She says it so sadly that it takes Arya aback. She does not know what to do with this woman who is both woman and girl. Brienne is somehow seeming soft and hard, naïve and all too knowing. She is a body of things that do not go together and Arya is not sure how to respond. She had expected a hardened warrior or a Dacey, but Brienne seems to be a different breed. Or mayhap she is not. Mayhap this is just an off night and the following night she would be drinking a Frey or Umber under the table.

“ _Girls,_ ’ Septa Donyse snaps before turning to Brienne, ‘Come along, child, we shall find something for you to wear.”

Arya watches the two walk away, Elaenor and Bethany discussing the merits of returning to one of their rooms before supper or they could go spend some time in the gardens. She follows behind them as they make their way to the garden. They mayhap have an hour before the evening meal, which is enough time for a bit of fun. Then Arya sees Mother heading towards the Great Hall and sees Utherydes and the Silent Sisters waiting for her.

Before Arya even really thinks about it, she turns and follows Mother into the Great Hall. She has not spent much time there after the Sisters brought Father back. The bones do not truly feel as though they were Father and the sister still unnerve her. She does not cower from them, though. When she sees them around the keep, she makes sure to look them right in the eye. Let them know she fears neither them nor the Stranger. So, what if they spoke to the dead? So, what if they gave up their tongues? She is Arya Stark of Winterfell and she will not be afraid of some women.

She watches as Mother sweeps pass them to look at the bones. The Sisters watch silently and Utherydes gently brushes past Arya. He spares her a glance, but does not bother trying to drag her away. The Sisters in the room, spare her a glance but make no moves towards her. There are only two in the Great Hall, but there are four in the keep in total. The two in here or one of the others must have lit incense recently, the room smells of it. Arya wrinkles her nose. The smell is not right for Father. He is of the North. He smells of pinewoods and snow and ash and wolves. He smells of horses and Northern rushes and leather. He has never smelled of the incense that they burn in the Sept.

Arya remember being very little and cuddling into the crook of his neck, enjoying how he smelled. He smelled like home and her and Jon and the others. She wonders if Mother is thinking of that too as she stands in front of the bones. Maybe if they lent down and sniffed the doublet that they had laid over the bones it would still smell of the North. Arya hates that she is too scared to go through with it. The bones do not scare her, they are just bones but the fear of disappointment is terrifying. She does not want to lean over expecting to smell Father and be met with something out. He spent so much time in King’s Landing the smell must have changed. She would hope for snow and only get sand.

Instead she walks slowly to Mother’s side and takes her hand. They are the only ones of the North to be with him now. Well, Mother was not of the North but she must be a part of it now. Catelyn had been born a Southern Tully, but she wed a Northern Stark and gave him children. She thinks that it must count for something.  

Mother’s hand is comforting around her own, not that she needs it since she took Mother’s hand to comfort Mother. Arya has already stood in front of these bones and silent women, she knows what it is like. A stupid girl inside of her reminds her that it would have been nice to have Mother then. Mother would have held her tight and explained about the Silent Sisters and stood with her to see Father’s bones. It would have been Mother instead of Elaenor who hugged her in her chambers that night as Arya tried very hard not to start weeping again. Arya tells the girl to shut up. She handled it all well. She did it all just fine without Mother.

Mother, for her part, grips Arya’s hand tight as she stares wordlessly at the bones. She takes in the doublet and the lack of a head and the not-Father’s-sword by his side. Arya wonders if Mother can see Father in these bones the way Arya cannot. Maybe she can find flesh in bone.

“This is not Ice.” Mother says, looking away from the bones to where Utherydes stands.

“No, my lady, it is not. Lord Eddard’s long sword was not returned to us, only the bones.”

Mother nods and looks at the bones again. Moons ago she sent two daughters, a husband, and a long sword left. Now she is left with one daughter and bones. But Sansa lives yet, Arya reminds herself. Robb was going to go get her. After winning the Battle of the Oxe Cross men said that there was nothing that could defeat the Young Wolf.

“I want his bones returned to Winterfell, to be buried in the crypts.” Mother tells Utherydes, not looking at him.

“Of course, my lady. We shall send them as soon as soon as the sun is up.”

“Good. I will ask Ser Hallis Mollen to return them with a host.”

“We shall prepare for them to leave then.” Utherydes says with a nod before leaving.

Arya feels odd about the bones leaving. She still cannot see Father within the bones, but everyone says they are – were – Father. They are nothing like Father, so why does it feel as if he is leaving again? He should go though, he would want to be back in Winterfell.

“Can I go back with them?” Arya asks.

“Soon,’ Mother says, squeezing her hand, ‘We will go and visit Winterfell soon, but first we must wait for Robb to get Sansa.”

“Why must I wait?” Arya demands. No one needs her to wait for Sansa. She could go now and be with Bran and Rickon and Old Nan and Hodor. She could go with what is left of Father and be safe within the walls of Winterfell.

“We do not have enough men to take you North, Arya.”

Arya certainly does not pout, but she does swing their hands lightly in irritation. She wants to go home even if she did promise to wait for Robb. Robb needs to hurry up and be done with it all.

Mother lets out a sigh before turning towards the door, taking Arya with her. They stop just before the stairs leading to the main wing of rooms for the family and Mother hugs her tight.

“We will go North as soon as we can. We just have to wait for Robb and Sansa to return and all of us will go, I promise. Will you wait with me, Arya?”

_No._

“Yes, Mother.”

“Thank you. Now, go find the girls for supper while I go to find Brienne.”

Arya watches as Mother goes up the steps. One of these days she is going back North war or no war.

Then she thinks of Father and how he would not want her to leave Mother alone.

Then she thinks of how Father is dead. What he wants – wanted – doesn’t really matter anymore.

iii.

Brienne is not exactly as Arya expected. Not that Arya is not thrilled with her – she is – but she is not what she expected when she first heard of her. Arya had pictured a giant woman, the Warrior reborn but flesh. She would be fierce and bold. She would be able to outdrink all of the knights and make loud jests. She would be Dacey and Visenya and Nymeria and . . .

Brienne is certainly something.

Brienne is amazing with a sword.

Brienne blushes when Raymund the Rhymer gives her a sly wink.

Brienne beats every Frey who challenges her.

Brienne reluctantly agrees to wear the gown Mother has made for her, at least to supper.

Brienne is decent enough with a bow and arrow.

Brienne smiles at Elaenor’s tales of romance and shares the ones she knows from the Stormlands.

Brienne is amazing…she just isn’t what Arya expected.

iv.

It takes about a week or so before she is able to get Brienne alone. Brienne spends most of her time in the yard or with Mother, but now Mother and Edmure need to talk in private. It seems rather stupid to Arya that they have to hole themselves away to argue when the whole of Riverrun already knows that they are arguing.

_Why are you and Mother arguing?_

_We are not arguing, we are_ discussing _forcefully_

It does not take a maester to understand that Uncle Edmure is itching to ride and claim some glory for himself. Arya is pretty sure that if he could get over his suspicions of singers, he would be conspiring with Raymund now for a song. Probably about how he kept the men’s hopes up while captive during the siege or how he ended it. Arya thinks the former would be a bit more accurate, but who is she to stand in the way of a perfectly good song. And since Mother and Uncle Edmure are keeping each other and Utherydes and Desmond Grell busy, Arya has a chance to get Brienne alone. Bethany was all too happy to find an excuse for why Arya was not attending to duties or embroidery. Bethany, gods love her, still isn’t the best with a sword but she tries.

While breaking their fast Arya asks Brienne to meet her in one of the secluded parts of the garden. Brienne, probably not wanting to deal with embroidery or the men in the yard, agreed rather readily. Brienne seemed to be in better spirits than usual. When she first to Riverrun she seemed rather haunted, sad and angry. Arya had heard Mother tell Brienne more than once that going to kill Stannis would do no one any good. The words did not seem to help Brienne much, but her spirits were improving.

Brienne seems pretty surprised when Arya meets up with her dressed in breeches and a tunic, Needle at her side. Arya has tried to listen to Dacey’s advice about fighting in gowns, but this was different. Arya wants to train with the Maid of Tarth properly. She is determined for this woman to be her new training partner until Dacey returns and then all three of them can work together. Besides she and Dacey are better than any of the stupid boys and men that can be found in the training yard.

“Brienne! Brienne! This is Needle.” Arya says excitedly, holding Needle up high. Brienne is much taller than most, so Arya con only get it up to her chest if Arya stands of tip-toes.

Brienne seems confused for moment before taking the slender sword. For face goes from confused to bemused as she studies it.

“Where did you get this, Lady-”

“Arya!”

“Where did you get this, _Arya_?”

Arya chews her lip thinking about how much to tell her. Robb knows that Jon gave her Needle, which wasn’t her fault since he guessed, and he said he would not tell Mother. Uncle Edmure knows, but he is not going to tell Mother either…well, he knows she has it, not who gave it to her. Brienne, like Uncle Edmure, spends a great deal of time with Mother. She could let something slip about Needle and then Mother would ask where she got it and Mother would probably figure out that it was Jon or Robb would end up telling and Mother would hate Jon more than before. If she wants to go to the Wall to see Jon, she needs Mother not to hate him more than before he left Winterfell. She has given up on Mother ever liking Jon, but she is not about to give Mother any more reason to try to stop Arya from seeing him. When they go back North Arya plans to go to the Wall as soon as possible.

Arya shrugs in answer to Brienne, choosing instead to get to the point, “Dacey Mormont -she’s Mage Mormont’s eldest daughter – would practice with me but then Robb made her ride West with him. He told Uncle Edmure to find someone for me to practice with, but he never did so I have to spar with Bethany or Nymeria or Ser Flour II.”

“Ser Flour II?”

“Ser Flour I met a noble end. Raymund could write a song about it. But, Brienne, will you practice with me?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you! Who else? You’re the Maid of Tarth! You rode down the Knight of Flowers! You have to help me, Brienne!”

“Your Mother would not like it, Arya. I owe her a great deal…”

“I won’t tell anyone and if she does find out I’ll tell her Robb said it was alright. Uncle Edmure would know too!”

Brienne studies her and Arya tries to make her eyes go wide like Sansa or Nymeria did when they wanted something. Bethany tried to do that too, but it never looked right. Arya rarely tried anything like that. She typically did something before asking anyway, that way she could do what she wanted. If it involved someone else, though, she had to ask which was a bit more difficult. She doubts Brienne will tell her no, though. How would it be fair for Brienne of Tarth to learn to use a sword no other woman?

Brienne still looks unsure when she hands Needle back to Arya, “If your Lady Mother should find out…”

“I’ll take the blame! I promise! I swear it on the old gods and the new.”

Brienne studies her for another moment before giving her a smile, “What do you know?”

v.

The more Arya spends time with Brienne the more she likes her. Is she exactly what Arya was picturing a woman warrior to be? No. Well she looked the part tall and broad as she was, but she was more softhearted than Arya expected. Actually, she reminded Arya a lot of Dacey and at odd times Sansa.

“I think Uncle Edmure is going to ride soon.” She informs Brienne as they sit together, backs against the Sept and pass a water skin back and forth.

“Your uncle is a fine knight.” Brienne gets out, but there is not much love between Uncle Edmure and Brienne. He has laughed one too many times at the jest of a young Vance that was about Brienne.

“I guess…do you miss Tarth?” Arya asks, wanting to get away from the subject of Edmure. She does not wish for him to ride off.

 The last time Uncle rode off he was captured and had left those in the keep to fend for themselves. Grandfather was stronger then too, now he has bad days more often than good. She has heard him tell Mother more than once as his poor Lysa and tansy and mint and wormwood and honey. She has heard him mistake Mother for Minisa Whent more then once, Arya feels her hands going up to the pendant around her neck. A bat for Minisa, a bat for House Whent, a bat for the brave and mad Lady Danelle.

“Of course, I miss it very much.” Brienne says and gives her a smile.

“What is like? Maester Vyman says they call it the sapphire isle. Do you have many?”

Brienne lets out a laugh, “No, we have more storms than we have jewels. It is called sapphire isles for the color of the water, not the jewels. It is a beautiful island, lots of grass and tall trees.”

“In the Stormlands.”

“In the Stormlands,’ Brienne agrees.

“Is that why you pledged loyalty to Renly? Because he is of the Stormlands.”

After the first-time questioning Brienne, the girls have stopped asking about the late king and Brienne’s feelings concerning him. Now that they are a bit closer, Arya cannot help her curiosity.

“In part.” Brienne says, staring hard at the waterskin.

Arya frowns, “Why not pledge to Stannis? He is the elder.”

“Because I knew Renly.” Brienne says softly.

Arya waits quietly, hoping for more of an explanation.

“I had met Renly when we were children. He was kind to me, far kinder than any other, and he grew to be a great knight. He served his brother well on the council. Renly was honorable and brave and valiant. Had he not been murdered he would have been a magnificent king.”

They sit in silence after that. It’s pretty clear now that Brienne would never have hurt Renly. The way she speaks of him makes Arya think back to when Sansa wrote her a bout the Tourney of the Hand…the one for Father. A hundred years ago her sister wrote her about Ser Loras and about how amazing and handsome he was. Sansa’s words may not have been meant as deeply as Brienne’s were, but it is similar none the less. Brienne could not have hurt Renly anymore than Sansa could hurt her Knight of Flowers.

“I’m sorry someone killed Renly.” Arya says for lack of anything better to say and she feels a bit bad for bringing this up at all.

Brienne nodded and gave her a smile, “I am glad that even if my Renly is dead, I am still able to serve a good king.”

“Do you think Robb will make a good king?”

“If he is anything like your Lady Mother, he will be the best king of the age.”


	16. XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmure rides to battle, the Battle of the Ford is won, and news comes from Castle Crewyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> So i know i said Jaime was going to be in this chapter and the plot starts shifting, but it didnt really fit. So this is the last chapter that kind of sticks to canon. Jaime and plot changes will show up next chapter, promise! Some characters follow their canon path in this story and Jaime Lannister is not really one of them. Thank you for understanding!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

i

“Prince Theon, you promised mercy.”

“And I have given it. Had they not run, this would not have been their fate.”

“This is an affront to the gods.”

“Your gods are not mine, old man. They no longer have power here.”

ii

Uncle Edmure looks happy and glowing as he steps away from his horse to say good-bye to Arya and Mother. He looks like a knight from the songs, his mail newly shined by his squire and his courser is looking well fed and well groom. His blue eyes are shining, and his beard has grown in. It is not as long or bushy as the beards worn by Northern men, but it is still there, close cut on his cheeks. It is so bright that it looks as if his face is on fire. Looking at him now no one would doubt that he could ride off to glory. Who could strike such a brave knight down? Who could ever touch the young eventual Lord of Tully?

Ser Jaime Lannister touched him once.

Ser Jaime Lannister held him, hostage, once.

Ser Jaime Lannister is still being held in the dungeon.

Ser Edmure Tully is still planning to ride to battle.

Little Lady Arya Stark’s stomach twists.

Uncle Edmure stops before her and Mother and gets down on one knee to be face to face with Arya. He grins widely at her and brushes some hair behind her ear.

“You’ll wait for me again, won't you?”

“Yes, Uncle Edmure,” Arya says. What else can she say? All have told him that this was madness. Mother accused him of worrying more about his legacy than what was the right move to make. He did not speak to Mother for three days after that, he spoke to Arya still but it was clear he was unhappy.

“Good! I shall return soon, I promise.” He says and cups her cheek before standing straight.

“Cat,” he says, giving his elder sister a kiss on the cheek.

“Edmure, it is not too late…”

Edmure gives a laugh before letting her go, heading for his horse. As he mounts it Arya suddenly sees Father mounting Coal. She may have seen him mount as she rode off with Harwin, maybe she had looked back. She bet she saw him mount before riding off to King’s Landing. Her stomach tightens again and she feels a stinging in her eyes, but she will not cry. She is a wolf and wolves do not cry. They howl and growl and run but they do not cry and neither does she.

“Tell Father I have gone to make him proud.” Uncle Edmure calls out as he leaves the yard, smallfolk hustling to get out of the way. Children swarming around the horse. Uncle smiles and waves to him.

Arya tries to call out that Grandfather already is proud of him and this is stupid, but her words are lost to the cheering crowd.

iii

“Stop fidgeting, Arya.” Mother says from where she sits by the window.

Arya lets out a long breathe and shifts her weight to her other foot. She has grown once again, which means gowns need to be hemmed or taken in or let out once again. At least, she comforts herself, she could not really go outside today anyway. The rain came as Uncle Edmure left and it has yet to stop. She still spent time watching for him on the ramparts, but Mother lectured her for being out there too long last time.

_“But I promised Uncle Edmure”_

_“He will understand, I’m sure.”_

_“But-”_

_“Arya. Enough.”_

At least Brienne has been crowded with all of them. With Mother at Riverrun the Frey girls have been around more as well, so all of them – Arya, Mother, Elaenor, Bethany, Arwyn, Walda, Becca, Brienne, Septa Donyse, the seamstress – crowd into Arya’s chamber for this. While Arya suffers through being poked and prodded and putting on and taking off the rest sit off to the side working on needlework.

Elaenor is still trying to make her wolves less wompy.  

“Eventually we are going to run out of the old gowns,” Becca says fingering one of the gowns as the top of the pile to be mended.

“The ones from a few moons ago still fit well enough.” Maggie, the seamstress says as she adds another pin.

“Aye,’ Becca agrees, ‘I mean eventually these hand-me-downs will run out.”

“When the war ends, we will have no more need of them, we will be able to get cloth.” Mother says. After Arya agreed to stop wearing black, Mother had indeed managed to find some cloth. There was only enough for two gowns, though, and with a war on there was no way to get more until the ports started trading again. Raids were still being carried out in the Riverlands, so ships were reluctant to dock in the usual ports.

“I like these gowns,’ Arya supplies.

It is not a lie either. She does prefer the hand-me-down gowns to the stiff new ones Mother had made. She does not worry about ruining or damaging the older gowns and though Elaenor may lament how out of fashion some of the cuts were, Arya still likes them. She never cared much for what was in style and what was not anyway. She has been told, however, that other people care about it and some have followed her lead. Some of the women and girls who live in the keep have started cutting their gowns similarly to hers. Elaenor, upon hearing this, gave a great sigh and said Arya should be a better role model. Arya told her she should shut up.

 “I think that was one of mine.” Mother says thoughtfully, setting her sewing down to study Arya.

It may have been. The bust is bigger and the hem longer than Lysa’s usual gowns. As Becca pointed out they are running out of gowns between Arya ripping them and dirtying them and growing. She is not as tall as Elaenor and Bethany – the traitor – is soon to overtake her.

“I remember that little stain on the skirt,” Mother says, still somewhere else. What she says still startles Arya. She cannot imagine Mother ever spilling anything, especially on one of her gowns. She had figured that one of the servants or someone had accidently dropped something on it.

“Mother?”

“Yes, Arya…”

“Will embroider this one for me?” Arya asks, fingering the hems. There are little flowers and fish already, but she could use some wolves.

Mother studies her for a moment before giving a soft smile, “Of course, sweetling.”

iv

“You should not be up here, my lady.”

“Shut up, Wyll. I promised Uncle Edmure I would do this, so there.” Arya says sending Desmond Grell’s squire her fiercest glare. The stupid squire should mind his own affairs.

He was a new one. Some son of some house Arya could not be bothered to remember. All she knew was that he was not a Frey, thank the old gods and the new. There are fewer of them now since Robb took many of them with him when he headed West. Uncle Edmure took most of the ones who remained with him when he rode off for glory. As much as Arya did not want to see Uncle Edmure ride off once again, she is happy that he took some of the Frey men with him. She kicked the last one who spoke of Elmar to her and she will run the next one through with Needle the next time some Frey dares to speak of Elmar to her. She would tell them that Uncle Edmure is going to get her out of it, but she does not need word getting back to Mother so she keeps her mouth shut. Her hands and feet get her point across well enough anyway.

She was about to leave, but now she is stuck up on the battlements. If she left now then stupid Wyll would think she listened to him and would try to tell her what to do more. Word could get out of it too and more people would think they could tell her what to do. She was the chatelain of Riverrun, not some little girl they could order about. Sometimes people needed to be reminded of that, like Wyll.

Instead of going down to find a honey cake like she planned to do, she looks out the Red Fork. The sky is still grey, Septa Donyse had commented that the sky and Arya’s eyes appeared to be the same color. Arya had shrugged that thought off, wishing that the sky would go back to being Tully blue. Instead they were stuck with a grey drizzly sky, the only other color being a faded red for the bright red star in the sky. Before Uncle Edmure left he had told Arya that is was Tully red, a sure sign of their victory. She had heard Uncle Blackfish tell Mother that is was red for the blood of those who died in war. Arya thought it could be both. The star was red for the blood of their enemies.

Arya looked away from the faded red to the land in front of her. The grass was still a vibrant green and the Red Fork still ran blue. From what she hears they are lucky that the grass and woods here are still green and whole. The Lannister men burnt the villages where they pillaged and did not bother to contain the flames. Crops would be set alight and then spread to surrounding meadows and woods. There were places in the Riverlands where nothing but ash remained. Arya has tried to imagine before, but has never had much luck in doing so. She cannot imagine the knolls she was used to riding or the trees she climbed being gone.

Arya is about to give up and take her leave, there is not much to do on the battlements without someone to cheer or taunt. She is going to go change and find Brienne for a training session. She is still working at getting Brienne to really try to fight her, but it is a work in progress. Brienne is a lot wearier of hurting her than Dacey was, plus Arya is pretty sure sometimes Brienne lets her win. Arya is sure she can get Brienne to really train with her if they keep practicing. A few more times and Brienne would see that Arya was no breakable little lady.

Before she can leave, though, Wyll runs past her, faster than she ever thought he could move. The men on the battlements are calling to others and gathering closer to the edge. They are so focused on what is happening that they do not even notice her. Arya takes advantage of their distraction to make her way back to the edge to see what everyone else is seeing.

A host of men were making their way to the river. Men on the wall around her were rushing off of it. Down in the year Raymund Rhymer had stopped his song as people in the yard scrambled around. Arya changed sides to look over the yard, as Desmond Grell came on to the battlement. He looked about to reprimand her, but one of the men got to him first, asking a flurry of questions. In the yard small folks started rushing for their small dwellings while knights and squired shoved them out of their ways as they tried to get out of the keep. Arya is pretty sure that she saw a horse stomp on at least one child who could not move fast enough. Some of the smallfolk men followed the leaving knights on foot, pitch forks and sickles and rusty swords held tight. More than one woman grabbed on to her husband, trying to drag him back. Some of them went with them, especially the older ones, but the younger ones seemed determined to go.  A blond youth, mayhap a bit younger than Becca, appeared to be fighting with a knight who would not let him join in the fighting.

Arya watches as more men come to aid the blond youth, when Mother comes on to the battlements with Brienne. Her grey gown is wrinkled oddly on the knees, suggesting she has been spending most of her day at the Sept. Praying for Robb and Sansa and Bran and Rickon and Uncle Edmure and Uncle Blackfish most likely. Arya wonders if Mother prays for her too. Mayhap she prays for patience like Septa Donyse and Becca.

“Ser Jason’s men are already taking up a defensive position, Cat” Ser Desmond says.

“How many are there?” Mother asks.

“Only a couple of outriders, there can be no more than fifty men in the column.”

Ser Desmond, Mother, and Brienne looked over the battlement at the approaching host. Arya tip-toed quietly to stand a little way from Brienne to watch. It is a small fight, as Ser Desmond had said. There are neither large fires like there were during the lifting of the siege nor the same amount of men. It only appears to be column on column, instead of other columns claiming the element of surprise.

She listens as Brienne gives quiet commands to the men. Her “now” aligns perfectly with Ser Jason giving the signal to charge. Brienne keeps giving orders which the men on the ground follow. She is starting to wonder if the men can actually hear her.

“Arya?’ Mother says, breaking Arya’s concentration, ‘What are you doing up here? Go to the keep at once.”

“I was waiting for Uncle Edmure.” Arya responds, making to no to leave.

“This is no place for you. Go back to the keep now.”

“Grandfather let be up here when the siege was breaking.”

Mother stares at her a moment, seemingly startled. Then she gets her face under control and gives Arya a Look.

“He should not have. Ladies have no business on battlements.”

“Your up here too.”

Mother purses her lips and turns to Brienne, “Brienne please escort Lady Arya back to the keep. The battlements are no place for her.”

“Yes, Lady Catelyn.” Ser Brienne the Traitor says, taking Arya’s hand.  

“This is not fair.” Arya does not whine as Brienne basically drags her off of the battlements.

“It truly is not a good place for you to be. A stray arrow could strike you.”

“It could strike any of us! It would probably strike Ser Desmond as big as he is.”

Brienne snorts and her lips twitch, but she still makes her go to keep.

That night she refuses to eat supper with everyone else. No one seems to understand quite how unfair all of this is. She is doing nothing wrong by standing on the battlements. So, she sneaks into the kitchen and has Cook send her meal up with Grandfather’s. She eats with him and tells him how unfair Mother is being. Sleeps through most of it, but she is sure that he would agree with her. Grandfather could be reasonable about these types of things. He would understand, he would have wanted to see Ser Jason and his men force House Brax retreat into the woods. Grandfather is not even awake long enough for him to see it though.

Arya tells him what she saw, though. Tells him about how Brienne gave orders and men seemed to follow him. She tells him about Brienne’s betrayal. She tells him about how she is jealous of Brienne and Dacey. They fight with swords and wear what they please and no one can make them do anything different. They had all of that freedom, but they never argued when Mother tried to make Arya do things she did not want to do. Dacey had laughed when Arya tried to get out of embroidery and Brienne was quick to do whatever was asked of her. It was selfish of them, not helping her. They had what they wanted, why couldn’t she?

v

Arya’s mood does not improve when she is told the next morning that House Brax returned only to be forced to retreat again.

vi

Arya agrees to eat at scheduled meals three days after the battle of the fords. She eaten with Grandfather until between the whining of the girls, the nudging from Maester Vyman, and the outright demand of Mother she was forced to go. It was helped by the fact that Brienne came to find her for training instead of the other way around. Nest battle, though, Arya is not going to be carted off.

She munches on lamb and watches as Arwyn tries to endear herself to Mother. Arwyn has gone as far as to place herself between Mother and Brienne, as if Brienne was not a noble in her own right. Brienne was the only daughter of Tarth while Arwyn was like the fiftieth daughter of Frey or something. Was she a daughter or a granddaughter? A cousin? Arya forgets. There are far too many Freys to be expected to keep them all straight.

Walda, in either support or competition, took support at Mother’s other side. Arya does not mind, though, since she has taken the spot on the other side of Brienne in front of Bethany. They are playing a game with some of the peas that fell out of their trenchers, flicking them at one another. If one the peas touches the other person then they win a point. Or at least Arya thinks so, they have not agreed to set rules. Elaenor disapproves on principle, but she still tries to enforce her own rule or point system. Arya grins wide and giggles when Brienne flicks one of her own peas at Arya with a small smile.

“Hey that’s cheating!”

“No, its not, Arya. Its called strategy.”

“Who asked you, Elaenor?”

“Lady Catelyn, that gown is so lovely. Did you sew it yourself?” Arywn says.

Bethany flicks a carrot at Arya. It does not go as far as peas.

Mother gives a soft answer to Arwyn, but something is wrong. She has been so quiet tonight, quieter than usual. Mother was always one to answer graciously, even with people she was very fond of. Even when Arya spoke to her she gave her an odd look since this afternoon. Arya was not sure of the problem. She would think Mother happier than she seems. Uncle Edmure won his battle, the fords were secured, and Robb succeeded at the Oxe Cross.

“I saw a raven come today,’ Arwyn says, ‘was it good news?”

Mother looks uncomfortable at this question, “A raven came today, true, but the news was…dark.”

“Was it Robb? Has he been injured?”

Everything stops at that and Arya looks over to where Mother sits. Nothing could have happened to Robb. Her fierce big brother was winning battles not losing them…right?

“No…”

“Are you sure my lady? Is he well? Should someone go to him?”

“No,’ Mother says her tone hardening to something Arya has not heard before, ‘no. Robb is my only son left.”

What?

“The raven came from the Castel Crewyn, ser Rodrick wrote me that Robb is my only son. My boys…my sweets boys…have been slain by Theon Greyjoy. Tell me. Will you go to them, lady Arwyn? Will you weep for them?”

The table goes quiet and Arya can hear a faint humming in her ears. Mother had no other sons but Robb. Robb and Bran and Rickon but not Jon – never Jon – and not Theon Greyjoy. But Robb was the only son to remain to her. That meant Robb was the only brother to remain for Arya – and Jon, always Jon – but that could not be right. That’s two older brothers, and while Arya is a younger sister, she is an older one two. She is a year older than Bran and four years older than Rickon. She remembers climbing the Heart tree with Bran and Father sitting her in his lap helping her to hold the new baby. Bran, so close to her in age, did not feel much like a younger brother, but Rickon was obviously her little brother.  She helped Mother teach him how to walk. She had told him Old Nan’s stories and some of her own. She brought him flowers and smooth stones before he could leave the nursery.

Mother’s head is in her hands, all of them are looking uncomfortable. Bethany is reaching a hands towards her and Arya is no longer a big sister. She no longer has a responsibility to protect her little brothers. A duty she failed at.

Mother is shaking and Brienne puts an arm around Arya and Elaenor is coming around the table to her and all Arya can wonder is which god she should blame for this loss. The old gods of Father? The new gods of Mother? The drowned god of Theon Greyjoy? All of them?

vii

Thunder keeps Arya awake. Bethany says the storm is because the gods are angry at Arya, Elaenor says that is stupid, if that was true it would have stormed sooner. Septa Donyse says that the seven have already forgiven her. Arya does not care. She decided on blaming the new gods for this loss. Mother prayed to them all of the time and they could not be bothered to help them. Who cared if she over turned a few candles and pushed over some incense stands? So, what if she tried to scratch the image of the Father off of the wall (not that it worked)? They took her brothers and there was little she could actually take from them.

She does not fear storms, but she is not quite used to them. In the North storms came every once in a while, but they were rare and a bit different. There was still thunder and a bit of lighting, but it snowed instead of rained. Either way, she does not truly like the boom of thunder. She never has. On nights like this, she would crawl into Jon’s bed to make sure he was not afraid.

Bran used to crawl into Arya’s bed when he was very little and it stormed. Some nights she would take him with her to see Jon and some nights she would take him to their parents’ chamber and shoved him inside to seek comfort from them. He would grip her hand tight in his as they went down the hall. Rickon never really got old enough to come to Arya for comfort during a storm. Or mayhap he did and just did not come to her. Mayhap he went to Bran as Bran went to Arya and Arya went to Jon. Or mayhap the thunder and lightning did not make him nervous. Arya’s stomach tightens at the thought of her little brothers.

Mother tried not to tell her what really happened. She had only said that they had been killed when Theon Turncloak, Theon Child-Killer, took Winterfell. She did not say how and when Arya pressed it, Mother had given her a kiss on the head and went to Grandfather’s room. Mother did not tell her, but the servants and knights did even if they did not know it. People always care less about what they whisper when they did not notice her.

_How tragic._

_How could someone do that to little boys?_

_What can you expect from an Ironborn?_

_Seems more Targaryen than Ironborn._

_Aye, seems the name Brandon is cursed. This is the second Brandon Stark in an age to be burned._

_How Tragic._

Her eyes stings and shoves her brothers from her mind. Instead she thinks on Uncle Edmure and his quest for glory.

She wonders where the knights are. If they are riding through the rain or if they had set up camp. Mayhap Uncle Edmure and some Vance are sharing a tent right now, the snores drowning out the thunder. Mayhap they are helping the grooms trying to calm the horses. Horses are not wolves, they are skittish around thunder.

Lightning strikes right as Arya’s chamber door opens, illuminating Mother in white light. The sudden flash seems to startle her as Mother lurches back a little before coming further into the room. Arya props herself up on an arm, confused. The hour is late enough that Mother should be asleep as well, not creeping into Arya’s bedchamber.

“Mother?"

“Arya, what are you doing up?” Mother asks, as if she did not just enter Arya’s bedchamber at some absurd time of night.

“The thunder is loud.” Arya replies, she knows better than to tell Mother she is thinking of Bran and Rickon.

“It is keeping me up too,’ Mother says, she stands awkwardly by her bed, chewing her lip before realizing what she was doing and stopping, ‘Would you mind if I join you?”

Arya is surprised by the question, but nods and moves over. Her featherbed is large enough for two. Some nights she and Bethany and Elaenor can cram all of three of the themselves on to the bed. Becca had laughed the last time she saw them and teased that soon they would have a hard time doing that. Eventually they would have to stick to two people or one of them was going to have to learn to sleep on a palette at the foot of the bed. Arya does not think sleeping on a palette would be that much of an inconvenience. At any rate they should be fine for a while still.

Mother sets blows out her candle and sets in on the floor before climbing into the bed next to Arya. She cannot remember the last time she slept in the same bed as Mother. She usually climbed into Jon’s bed knowing that he was unlikely to send her back to her chamber. Its not a bad sensation, even if it feels a bit awkward. When Mother gets situated, Arya turns towards her like she does with Bethan and Elaenor.

“You do not like thunder, Mother?”

Mother seems a bit surprised by the question, which seems odd, but she nods after a moment, “I’ve never really liked them. It has been a while since I have been through a storm in the Riverlands.”

Arya nods and moves closer to Mother. She’s not sure what to do or say. If it was Jon, she would have cuddled into him, chasing warmth. If it was Bethany or Elaenor they would be close but not really touching. If it was Bethany and Elaenor they would be squished together, taking turns night by night about who would be in the middle. If Nymeria was in the bed, Arya would have curled up with her. With Mother she does not really know what to do.

Mother must though, because she throws an arm over Arya and pulls her close. Arya snuggles into her, enjoying the warmth. Mother’s smell is comforting too. It’s a bit different than when they were at Winterfell, but there is still something similar. She still smells a bit like Wintefell…like home. A part of home that Theon Greyjoy had not taken. He had taken Winterfell, took their people…took Bran and Rickon.

They have not really spoken of them, not since Mother told her what happened. They talk around them like they talk around Father and how Mother is starting to talk around Sansa and how both of them are starting to talk around Grandfather. They touch on the outskirts of people, not daring to bring them up. What is there to say at this point?

Sorry for your loss?

Sorry for our loss?

Who else is going to leave?

Do you wish I was someone else?

What do we do now?

Where do we go now?

Where is home now?

Are you going to leave too?

Arya has a million things to say, a million questions to ask and no way to ask them. The world feels too big and too small all at once and she has no idea where to go now. Home is gone. Father and Bran and Rickon are gone. Robb and Uncle Edmure may or may not be gone. Grandfather is going to be gone soon. Arya keeps looking for something stable to hold on to and keeps coming up empty.

For tonight though, she has Mother. Arya throws an arm around her and snuggles closer, wanting to make sure that she was actually there and she was not about to suddenly disappear. Arya listens to the steady thump of Mother’s heartbeat. The thunder has lessened and she can feel herself dozing off.

Before she even thinks she is fully asleep she feels a drop of rain on her cheeks. It just the start of a dream, she tells herself when she feels another rain drop on her cheek.

That night she dreams of rain and wolves.

 


End file.
